Purgatory
by Scrappy LeMonte
Summary: Set at the end of Season Two, with Vincent deathly ill. He's retreated to an obscure cavern away from his Tunnel family, to protect them from himself, as his illness has driven him to madness. Catherine goes to him to try help him. She takes desperate action to save him, but in the end, they save each other.
1. Chapter 1

I read, in somone else's fanfiction, thank you, very much, that the original plan for Season Three of BATB was to have Vincent die, and have adventures in the afterlife. Or something very like that. I wanted to write that story, Vincent in a fantastic land, having adventures. I started writing, and it was one of those wonderful times where the story seems to write itself.

PURGATORIO CANTO 1  
Per correr miglior acque alza le vele 1.1 To course across more kindly waters now  
omai la navicella del mio ingegno, my talent's little vessel lifts her sails,  
che lascia dietro a sé mar sì crudele; leaving behind herself a sea so cruel;

e canterò di quel secondo regno 1.4 and what I sing will be that second kingdom,  
dove l'umano spirito si purga in which the human soul is cleansed of sin,  
e di salire al ciel diventa degno. becoming worthy of ascent to Heaven.

Chapter One

 _She was rousing, but it was his absence from her bed that woke her. She'd slept peacefully laying next to him; but even in sleep, she missed him when he rose. She sat up, and saw him staring out the French doors, across the balcony. She came to stand close to him._

" _You're feeling better?"_

" _Yes." After a moment, he added, "I'm sorry." He hung his head._

" _Oh, Vincent…don't be sorry." She reached out and rubbed large, slow circles on his back._

" _It's been my struggle, always; now, when I have so much to fight for, I'm losing."_

" _Maybe the worst is over."_

" _If it's not, it's best that I'm below. I should go back."_

" _It'll be dark soon…"_

" _Catherine…I don't know what will happen now…"_

 _She took both his hands in her own. "You must promise me one thing. That you will share it with me, whatever happens, whatever comes."_

 _He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "Whatever happens, whatever comes…know that I love you."_

He walked slowly through the tunnels, occasionally dragging a foot, frequently stopping to rest. Several times he put out a hand to rest for a moment, leaning against the tunnel wall. Once, he sat down for a few minutes. A wave of nausea rose up and rolled over him; he closed his eyes until it passed. He pushed himself past sickness, past weakness, for he knew he must complete his mission. He must get to Narcissa. He must prepare. He raised his face; the cool air of the tunnels felt so good. He closed his eyes.

He descended past the main living level of the tunnels, bearing a heading for the lower levels. He made his way slowly, haltingly, to the murky levels of the Catacombs, where the air  
was thick and the light had difficulty penetrating the gloom. While he was still a long way off from her chambers, Narcissa and three of her novitiates met him, and helped him in.

They assisted him to sit at Narcissa's round table. Niches in the walls held dozens of tall pillar candles; their brightly flickering tongues swam before his eyes. The thin tinkling of wind chimes played their ballet. The thin gray smoke of sandalwood incense wafted throughout the chamber.

"Vincent," said Narcissa, "you are not a moment too soon, and thank God you are not too late. You are going on a journey, my son, and you must be prepared."

One of the novitiates mixed a powder into a goblet of water, and set it before him. "Drink it, Vincent," said Narcissa, "it is a powerful tonic." He lifted the goblet, and drank. As he did, Narcissa and her novitiates drummed lightly on the table and chanted, "Father Legba, guide his steps. Mother Kalfa, show him the way through the darkness. Papa Ghede, stay by his side. Father Dumballah, keep him safe." The novitiates continued drumming on the table top while Narcissa rose. Before her on the table was a clutter of small, oil filled bottles. She grasped a rose tinted one, and moved behind Vincent. She sprinkled several drops of the oil on his head and handed the bottle to a novitiate. She laid her hands on his head, and began to chant in Creole. When she finished, the novitiates stood, circled around Vincent, leaning across the table to join hands. They closed their eyes and prayed softly in Creole. When they finished, they folded him into a group hug.

Vincent felt refreshed; his mind cleared a bit. "Have faith you will complete your journey, and return home, my son. The gods will protect you, and bring you safely back to us."

"Thank you, Narcissa."

"Surely, Vincent. Come, we will accompany you to the upper levels."

It was some time after they parted that Samantha confronted him about his forgotten commitment to their reading group…Jane Eyre. _Ah, Samantha, sweetest of little girls…I'm sorry, so sorry…how could I have explained to you, how could I have made you understand?_

Finally, he arrived in his chamber…the wreck that used to be his chamber…and then, out of nowhere, The Other appeared, and lunged at him…

…and then he was clenching the bars of the park gate, trying to break through the locks to get to his mate, and Father was trying to take him home, coaxing him away…he was losing control, he was becoming an… _animal_ …he broke down, and cried. He was going to lose this fight, he knew it. His greatest fear was going to be realized: he would lose his humanity. If he didn't die, then The Other would be in control. While Father went to get Catherine, he said goodbye to his Tunnel family; they had loved him, they had given him everything: love, laughter, joy, belonging. And so to keep them safe, safe from himself, he left them. He made his way to the lowest levels, below the Catacombs.

…and then he was in a dark cavern, pacing the ground, snarling, roaring…consumed by the killing rage, when an intruder approached. Raising his arm to strike, he lunged at… _Catherine! No, no, never…I would die before I would harm Catherine, I would die…_

He collapsed.

He woke in an open field, sunshine warming him. _Sunshine!_ The icy fingers of fear clenched around his throat. But before he could muster up a true panic, he looked up and saw an oddly dressed man kneeling over him. He was young, muscular; he wore a winged cap, winged sandals, a toga, and carried a caduceus.

"Hermes?" asked Vincent in a raspy whisper.

"That's right," Hermes said kindly. "I'm here to take you and these others to Charon." Vincent looked behind Hermes. A group of perhaps twenty people stood by, milling aimlessly. _They are rightly called 'shades'_ , thought Vincent. They were dim, transparent at the edges; even the colors of their clothing were muted to shades of gray. Quickly, Vincent looked down at himself: he, too, was a shade.

"No, no, no…I can't be dead," exclaimed Vincent. He thought of the sorrow his family would have to endure; he thought of how much he would miss Father. His breath caught as he thought of the grief his death would bring to Catherine. "No, Hermes, please—" he began, while rising to his feet.

"Vincent, I'm sorry. None of these people wanted to die, either. But there's nothing I can do, my friend. Your life is over; you must accept that. Come now," he said, and gestured for Vincent to follow.

In that instant, Vincent and the others were on the banks of the Acheron. Charon used his long pole to move the ferry to them, and weeping, they slowly, reluctantly, boarded. Charon began to ferry them across, and Vincent watched the land slowly recede. He silently bid farewell to all that he loved. Tears slid down his cheeks. He roared his frustration; he put his face in his hands, slid down and sat on the deck, and sobbed.

They reached the other side, and disembarked. Persephone, Queen of the Underworld, stood upon a rock, her arms outstretched in greeting. She was lovely, her skin very fair, her eyes warm liquid brown, her lips pink, and full. She was majestic, tall and proud.

"Welcome, my friends. I know you are distressed, worried about the loved ones you left behind, worried about your affairs, fearful of what may lie ahead. I can assure you, you may set your fears aside. You have lived good lives, you have earned eternal peace. You will see your loved ones again one day. Your affairs were truly only a temporary occupation, fleeting pursuits in the face of eternity. And as for what lies ahead for you, well, you will be very comfortable, very happy, and well entertained in the Elysian Fields. Come now, we will show you the way."

She stepped down off the rock. Charon was landing with one more soul. "A late arrival," she said. Vincent looked up.

"Catherine!" he shouted.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Ampheres was enjoying dinner immensely. The roast meats were succulent, the vegetables seasoned perfectly, and the fruit was sweet and delicious. The musicians were very talented, and playing wonderful songs that set everyone singing or dancing, or reminiscing. The dancers were inspired, twisting and twirling in sparking costumes. And the conversation of their friends and family this evening was some of the most interesting he'd ever had. He glanced at his wife, Enerate, fully expecting her to be as happy as he.

 _Oh, no,_ he thought. He was so disappointed. Enerate was fidgeting, tossing her head from side to side. She hadn't touched the food on her plate. Her best friend was trying to engage her in conversation, and looked hurt and confused when Enerate all but ignored her.

Ampheres excused himself from his conversation and went to his wife's side. "Enerate, are you well?" he asked.

She scrubbed at her arms. "I feel like I'm going to burst out of my skin," she whispered.

Ampheres signaled to a servant to approach. "Go get Deimahkos, tell him to meet my wife in her chamber." Ampheres held Enerate by the elbow, making her apologies as he guided her out of the hall.

Once in the corridor, he asked her, "Do you hear the voices?"

"I do," she answered. "They're getting louder, coming closer. It won't be much longer."

They looked deeply into each other's eyes, and dared to hope.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Father tried to stop her, but how could she not go to him? Without him, there was nothing, no life at all.

As she made her way down the tunnel leading to the cavern, she reached out to the damp wall for support. The path was rough, and she was afraid. The sound of Vincent's roaring and snarling was terrible…terrible. She swallowed hard, and kept going.

She entered the cavern. She could barely make out his form in the darkness. He saw her immediately, and charged, arm raised to strike.

She screamed his name.

He recognized her, and stopped. And the realization that he was so far gone in madness that he would charge her, his beloved Catherine, stopped his mighty heart.

He collapsed.

She saw it in his eyes, he had recognized her. She sprang forward to try to catch him. She supported his large frame as best she could, and helped him ease down to the ground.

She froze: he wasn't breathing. She checked for a pulse: none. Heartbeat? None.

"No, no…you can't, no, not without me, not without me…" she cried.

He was gone. His lips were blue, his hands cold already. She knew she must follow him. But she didn't want to die; she loved life. The blood coursing through her veins sang of the joy of living, her heart beat a celebration of life. She remembered when he had told her she smelled like sunshine, the progenitor of life-force on earth. And so she cried, deep, wrenching sobs, that wrung all the sorrow out of her heart, sorrow at leaving beloved life behind. She reached into her coat pocket, and pulled out one of Paracelsus' double edged daggers. She'd taken them for comparison to some unsolved murders Above, many unsolved murders Above. She knew as she pressed its point into the space between her ribs, there was only emptiness without Vincent, unbearable, cold emptiness. Unbearable. Had he allowed her to, she would have stayed by his side in life; but she believed in a truth beyond knowledge that she would be by his side in death. And so believing, she fell on the dagger, and came to rest – by his side.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"Catherine!" he shouted, and ran to her. He swept her up into a tight embrace, and she held on just as tightly, her arms around his neck. And then they were kissing, hard and deep, kisses they'd waited a lifetime for.

Finally, he set her down, and took her shoulders in his hands. "Catherine, what have you done?" He shook her. "What have you done?" He asked the question, but he knew the answer, for she also was a shade.

For a moment, she could only look at him. Then, unshed tears filling her eyes, she swallowed, and said, "I can't live without you. I won't. I won't!"

He pulled her close, and she wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Come, let us go now," called Persephone. The group was waiting.

"No, Persephone, no, please," Vincent entreated. He broke their embrace and strode toward Persephone, pulling Catherine along by the wrist. "This is wrong, she isn't meant to be here. Give her back her life."

"No, Vincent!" yelled Catherine. "My life is with you! I want to stay with you!"

Persephone's brow furrowed in confusion. She gestured to her attendants to take the rest of the group on. "Come with me," she said to Vincent and Catherine.

She led them into a cavern, and then down a long trail. It eventually opened up into a large chamber, a throne room, with two large ebony thrones at the far end. The room quickly filled with banners, rugs, musicians, and with the audience of a royal court. Finally, a tall, powerfully built man emerged, and came to stand before the thrones. As he looked at Persephone, his breath caught. He held out his hand to her.

She returned all of his feeling in her look, and began walking toward him. She gestured for Vincent and Catherine to follow. When she reached him, she took his hand, and together they mounted the few stairs to the thrones. Two attendants emerged, one moved to Catherine's side, the other to Vincent's. When they seated themselves on their thrones, the entire court bowed or curtseyed, and the attendants at their sides indicated to Vincent and Catherine to do the same.

"I am Hades, Ruler of the Underworld, Lord of the Dead. This, my most precious wife, Persephone, Queen of our Realm, brings you before us this day. Speak, Beloved, say why you present these two mortals to our court?"

"I am unsure of what their disposition should be, my Lord Hades, their ordering. They are very much in love, love that could neither be satisfied nor fulfilled on the mortal plane. As such, they have earned a peaceful place in eternity. However, the woman, her name being Catherine, is a suicide, which runs contrary to the laws of gods and men."

"But was the suicide done in desperation, out of love?" questioned Hades.

"Yes, I believe so."

"Well, then, does the law not allow us to extend an indulgence in the matter?" An attendant appeared and pressed a scroll in his hands. He read while listening to Persephone.

"Perhaps, but at the same time, the male, his name, Vincent, is guilty of many murders. One of which he believed to be his own father." A whispered, astonished hiss rippled through the audience, _'Patricide!'_ Vincent hung his head. "Vincent carries a huge burden of guilt in his heart."

"Are we allowed to speak, to defend ourselves?" asked Catherine. The attendant standing next to her tried to shush her, waving his hands downward. She brushed her hands away.

"Ever the lawyer, eh, Catherine?" asked Hades, and a titter ran through the audience. "Go ahead, then, what would you have the court hear?"

"Vincent never murdered anyone in cold blood. Everything he did, he did to protect me. He begged me to be careful. He begged me to not expose myself to danger. I tried to be careful, but there were times when I knowingly exposed myself to great danger. If anyone is to be punished, punish me, not him—"

"Be quiet, Catherine!" yelled Vincent. More quietly, he addressed himself to Hades and Persephone. "Don't listen to her, she doesn't know what she's saying."

"Vincent!" she interrupted.

He pulled her close by her upper arm. "She doesn't know what she's saying, she has no idea of the nature of the beast in me, its darkness, how it revels in the murders, how I lose myself in the smell of hot blood, pouring—"

She stamped down on his foot, and shot an elbow into his ribs. More surprised than hurt, he bent forward a bit at the waist.

"He is a poet! A scholar! He had only killed once before he met me. Once, to protect his family. After he met me, only because of me, he killed many, many times—"

He spun her to face him, holding her shoulders. "What must I do to silence you? You will _not_ take the blame for my crimes."

She began to answer, but was interrupted by Hades. "Enough," he directed toward them. He called out, "Alecto! Magaera! Tisiphone!" He passed the scroll to Persephone, who perused it.

Three ugly, winged hags flew into the chamber, landing on the stairs before the thrones. Vincent wrapped his arms around Catherine to shield her from the dust kicked up by their huge wings, and the bits of down and feathers they shed.

"I am Alecto, the unceasing, the endless," said the first. "My prerogative is therefore truth, and justice."

"I am Magaera, the grudging," said the second. "If you are found guilty in our court, I shall see to it that your sentence is carried out, even if it takes all eternity. I never tire, I never turn, I never forget."

"I am Tisiphone, vengeful destruction," said the third. "If you are found guilty in our court, I shall impose your sentence upon you. Whether you are to be confined to a cell, or whipped, or hung, or flayed, it is I who am executioner."

"Your honor," began Catherine as she gently lifted Vincent's arms and moved out from under, "Your honor," she repeated, feeling comfortable in a familiar forum, "I object to the very premise that two-thirds of the court's resources are allocated for punishment, only one-third for the discovery of truth, and no resources at all are devoted to the exercise of mercy."

Hades chuckled. "Mercy, a very human concept."

"Yes, but also a very eternal, unceasing, endless concept. A concept that, without which, mankind could not survive."

Alecto raised her eyebrows, and redirected her gaze toward Hades.

"The Erinyes will strike the objection from their record," he directed. A murmur ran through the audience. The Erinyes glanced at each other, and folded their arms across their chests.

"Perhaps we should proceed," suggested Persephone, glancing up from the scroll.

"Your honor? A question, if I may?" asked Catherine. They waited for her to continue. "This is strictly of a procedural nature, since I'm not familiar with your court."

 _There's the windup_ …thought Vincent.

"Will you tell me, please, what is it that you consider to be a crime? If I have to kill someone to stop them from killing me, have I committed a crime?"

… _and the pitch._ He watched Hades face for his reaction.

"Crime here is the same as crime Above, Catherine. To kill someone is a crime, but if you have to kill someone to defend yourself, then there is no crime."

"And what about defending the weak? If I see a strong person trying to kill a weak person, can I step in and stop the strong person?"

"Yes, of course," answered Hades.

"To fail to help when you are able would itself be a crime," added Alecto.

… _stri-i-i-ke two!_ Vincent observed.

"What if the only way I can stop the strong person is by killing him?" asked Catherine.

Hades cleared his throat. "Assuming that the strong person himself was not somehow acting in his own self defense, then I would say that if you had to kill the strong to save the weak, there would be no crime. Is that your contention, Catherine, that Vincent had to kill others to save your life?"

"Yes," interjected Persephone, "but my question is, why so many? Even if it were not criminal, and I don't believe it is, still I must ask, why so many?"

Catherine nodded. "Yes, in other words, why was my life so constantly in jeopardy?"

"Yes," answered Persephone, and the entire court was silent, waiting for her answer.

"Because I knew Vincent would always save me."

"No!" shouted Vincent. _Dammit! Curve ball, past ME!_ He made to take Catherine in his arms to silence her, but a look from Alecto dropped a cage down, trapping him. He gripped the bars and growled.

Catherine raised her arms to draw attention back to herself. "Two years ago, after I woke up with my face in five or seven pieces, I started thinking. I did a lot of thinking." She began to pace, slowly. "I thought about how I came to be flat on my back, underground, barely alive. I realized it was all because no one took me seriously. Even my friends joked that I should have specialized in 'fashion law'. I had something to prove, that I wasn't just a punching bag for an abusive boyfriend, or a pimp's tough guys in a case of mistaken identity. I had to prove to my father, my friends, my boyfriends, and the whole damn city that I was SMART and I was TOUGH, and if you messed with me, you would be SORRY. So I went to work for the DA's office, and I thought, that'll show 'em. But, boy, when Vincent came breaking through the wall in that brownstone, and turned those men inside out, then I knew…I knew…no one would ever mess with me again."

"She's lying," Vincent called out, "she's very smart, she thinks very quickly on her feet. She's spinning out this yarn to fool you. It was me, ME, it was my jealousy, most of those men were her DATES, her BOYFRIENDS, I could not STAND it, I would not STAND for it! She was mine! Mine! I found her, I saved her, she was mine! But she rejected me, and if I could not have her—"

"No, you can't listen to him! I'm telling you the _truth_ , I'm telling you that my motive for being _honest_ is my _guilt_. I can't bear the weight of this guilt on my conscience any longer! I knew he loved me, I knew he'd kill to protect me, and I used him. Vincent means nothing to me. He was a toy-"

"Catherine!" Vincent yelled, and then more softly, much more softly, "Catherine." His raspy whisper was compelling, a gentle caress. She tried to ignore him, but it was impossible. He was her everything, and when he spoke her name…when he spoke her name she got gooseflesh; she could feel all the love and tenderness he felt for her in his great heart. "Catherine, look at me." She remained steadfast, her back to him. She glanced back. "No, Catherine, look at me, look me in the eyes and tell me you don't love me, you were just using me."

She kept her back to him, and her eyes closed tight. "I won't," she muttered, clenching her fists.

"But, Vincent," asked Hades, "if you knew she loved you, why did you never make love to her? Why did you never take her in your arms, and show her how you felt?" Hades reached out for Persephone's hand, which she gave with a tender look.

"Look at her," murmured Vincent. "She's a creature of the light, of the sunshine, and the clouds…she is made of the same gossamer stuff as starlight…she is a bird on the wing…would you have me drag her down under miles of bedrock, keep her in the airless darkness for my own pleasure? Cover her purity with this body? So that I could rip her to shreds with these hands?"

Catherine held her head in her hands; she was pacing; she could take no more. "COULD we have a JUDGMENT, PLEASE? Could we JUST have a JUDGMENT?"

"Certainly, Catherine," said Hades. "We've heard enough. We will go into recess, and we will reconvene when we've arrived at a verdict."

And the court emptied until Catherine and Vincent stood alone in the chamber. Finally, chin quivering, she turned, and faced him. He tilted his head, and opened his arms. She ran to him, and he caught her up in an embrace. He raised his face and scented the air; he put her down on her feet. Holding her hand, he led her down a tunnel, up an incline, around a bend, then out into a small cavern in a sheer cliff face, high above an ocean. Waves crashed into the rock wall, and the air was filled with the fresh scent of the spray. Vincent took off his cape, and spread it out on the ground. He offered her his hands; she took them, and he eased her down. He sat down next to her, resting his back against the cavern wall. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he brushed her hair back from her face. They were drained, and they sat for some time, not talking, just resting, listening to the waves crashing into the rocks below, feeling the breeze play across their bodies.

He leaned forward as if to stand, and she caught at his vest, afraid he would leave her. He smiled softly and patted her hand. "I'm over-dressed, I need to take off some of these layers." He rose up on his knees. He shrugged out of his vest and sweater, which left him still clothed in his over-shirt and Henley. He hesitated, looking at her.

"In the first place," she ventured, "we're dead. The limitations we had in life no longer apply. In the second place, we have no idea what's going to happen to us when this court arrives at a verdict. These could be our last hours together. How do you want to spend this time?"

He stared at her, silent for a moment. "The ultimate hypothetical question has become a reality for us…and I have no answer. Dead or alive, Catherine, I exist in a hell where as much as I love you, as much as I desire you, the thought of my ugly, hirsute body covering your loveliness sickens me." After a moment, he added, "Would you mind, please?" indicating his shirt.

She turned her back to him. "It makes me so angry when you talk badly about yourself, especially since it's all so much crap. You are beautiful, why can't you believe it? Your face and your body exude such strength, such power; how can you not know how exciting that is? And the lines of your face, the curves of your cheekbones, the slant of your eyes, the strength of your chin, Vincent…you're beautiful. And your eyes…your eyes are the most beautiful piercing blue color…and the beautiful colors of your hair, caramel, tawny, and gold…and your body, the muscles of your chest, your arms, shoulders…your legs…" she had to shift position. She was becoming excited talking about his features, and her panties were getting moist. "Don't you notice how I practically pant every time I touch your arm, or when you hold me?" She stopped, waiting.

"I have no answer, Catherine."

She nodded. "Oh, and by the way, I never wanted to be up on this pedestal."

"I know," he said softly.

"Let me down."

He swallowed. "I can't."

She snorted. "Alright, if you're not going to let me down, maybe you could come up here with me. What if you were Vincent, the God? Son of the Goddess Astria and the God Dionysis? You could be the god of the forest, the protector of the innocent creatures that live there." She started to turn.

"Not yet!" he cried. He had frozen in place. _What does she know?_ he wondered.

She turned back, and resumed her proposition. "You could receive the offerings of your human followers, baskets of fruit, skins of wine they left on your altar. Your altar, Vincent, just imagine yourself having an altar. Say it, Vincent, say, 'my altar'."

Silence.

"Say it."

She heard him sigh, then mutter, "…altar."

"You can do better than that."

"My altar?"

Now she sighed. "What do I ever ask you for?"

He cleared his throat. "Mortal!" his voice rang out in a timbre so deep that it sent vibrations throughout his chest. He leaned over her shoulder and pointed at an imaginary human. "You there, Mortal! Leave your offering upon my altar, and I will judge if it is worthy." He voiced it slowly and loudly, like a line from a melodramatic old 'B' movie.

She laughed, delighted. "I didn't know you had it in you!" she said.

He wrapped his arms around her from behind, and nuzzled her neck. "Mmmmm," she sighed, "that's nice…" For a few moments she let herself enjoy the feel of his chest on her back. Without so many layers providing cushioning, the hardness of his muscles was prominent; she felt his strength. He pressed his cheek to hers. "Okay, change of scene," she said. She stood.

"I'm a maiden out in your forest one day, enjoying the grass and the trees, and the fresh air…when you see me."

He stood, and pretended to shade his eyes with his hand. He pantomimed wonder, amazement and, by clasping his hands over his heart, love at first sight at discovering her.

She smiled wryly. "Un-huh, yeah, you're good at this." He gave her a baleful look for her sarcasm. She smiled and resumed the tale, "You are at once enamored, and overwhelmed with desire for me, so you run to take me into your arms."

He reached for her, but she twisted away to his left. He reached left, she skipped right. He reached right, she skipped left, and giggled. He shook his head in disbelief, because at this point, he was actually trying to grab her, but missing. He squared his shoulders to her and lunged straight on, but she hopped back.

"I run, barely staying one step ahead of you." He feinted, she parried until they were both laughing at this new game.

"Finally, I run into a cave…there's no exit!" She backed up against the cavern wall, edging away sideways. He lunged, and finally trapped her between his arms.

He leaned close to her, his fur tickling her as he moved his face from her head to her neck, and then to her décolletage, taking in her scent. He pressed his lips to her neck, and kissed and nipped her velvety soft skin. She giggled until she realized how very nice his lips felt; she started taking things more seriously, and sighed into his ear, "Mmmmm, yes, Vincent, that's so nice."

She slid her hands across his shoulders, and wrapped her arms around his neck. He kissed his way up to her earlobe, and took it gently in between his incisors. Tickled, she cringed. He whispered, "Don't you mean, Lord Vincent?"

"Oh, yes," she moaned in a husky voice, "Good lord, Vincent, please kiss me."

He pulled back, and his sparkling blue eyes met her shining green. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you," he whispered back. He dropped his gaze to her lips, and she couldn't help smiling at him. He raised his hand, and rubbed his thumb across her lower lip. He held her chin and raised her face as he slowly lowered his.

His lips were so soft and warm, and he touched his lips to hers so very lightly, once…then twice. Then he pulled back again, and smiled softly at her beautiful face; her eyes were still closed. She opened them slowly. Her smile was so full of love…

He bent his head to touch her lips once again, but this time he nudged her lips open with his, and tentatively began to explore her mouth with his tongue. She caressed his tongue with her own, and opened her mouth a bit wider to take him in. She started melting into him, joining in spirit; at the edge of her awareness she thought she heard an orchestra from very far away start to play. He pulled her closer and held her tighter; she tasted of love and desire. He moaned softly into her mouth. She raised her hands and filled them with his silky mane. She clenched her fists, and leaned further into his kiss; he softly moaned his pleasure. He also raised a hand, and cupped the back of her head. He gathered her hair in his hand, and slowly, gently pulled her back.

He kissed her upper lip, then her lower lip. He moved his hand to cup her cheek, and again he drew his thumb across her lips. He used his thumb to pull her lower lip down, and open her mouth. He bent his face down close to hers. He brushed his lips across hers, and a shiver ran up her spine. She panted into his mouth, and he slowly filled her with his tongue. The sweet strains of the imaginary orchestra swelled to a crescendo, and then all she was aware of was him and herself.

Her knees went weak; she hung on to his neck. He pulled her closer, and released her slowly from his kiss. He kept his face very close as he slid his hands down the sides of her body and under her buttocks. He lifted her up while holding her close; she wrapped her legs around his waist.

He lowered them slowly to sit on the ground on his cape. He rested his back against the wall, and stretched his legs out in front of him. She sat in his lap, her thighs straddling his, her calves folded under. They explored and experimented kissing from every angle and in every configuration imaginable. And then their hands started to drift downward. She ran her hands over the breadth of his shoulders, massaging the muscles. She explored his chest with one hand while keeping an arm hooked around his neck as they continued kissing. She noticed how he shifted from slow, sultry kisses to intense, passionate kisses when she caressed his breasts. Her own excitement rose when he moaned into her mouth as she rubbed her thumb across his nipple. His moaning deepened and became more intense, and he held her even tighter, until he finally caught her hand.

He pulled back, panting. "Catherine…" He lifted her fingers to his lips, and kissed them. "Catherine…" he repeated, but couldn't go on.

"Too much?" she whispered. She didn't actually have to ask, since she was sitting with her heat positioned on top of his sex, she felt the evidence of his passion. "Why don't you let me give you a back rub?" she asked.

He very reluctantly took off his shirt, and they rearranged themselves. He stretched out on his stomach, she sat on top of his glutes. She started with his shoulders, kneading until they were putty, and then moving down, from the sides of his body and moving in to his spine, all the way down his back. By the time she reached the small of his back, his breathing had slowed and become shallow, and she thought he was asleep. The temptation was strong to pull his waistband down and discover uncharted territory, when he stirred.

"Catherine," he murmured, his voice velvet, but his tone warning, "I'm very relaxed, but not quite asleep, so I will ask you to keep your hands out of my pants."

"Ooooo, Vincent, if you only knew…the things I want to do to you-" she crooned, visualizing him.

He rolled over on his back, gently sliding her off his bum. The material above his sex was stretched taught by his erection. "I believe I have a very good idea." He smiled sadly. "I'm just not ready, my love."

"The evidence indicates otherwise," she argued, looking from his crotch back to his eyes.

"Catherine," he admonished, and reached for her. He tucked her in alongside him, and they resumed their kissing, cuddling, and caressing.

Later, when the moonlight made a glowing path in the ocean, and the stars twinkled high above…

"It's like they're winking at us, a billion winking eyes, all in on a secret, 'Catherine and Vincent are so in love'," whispered Vincent. Catherine lay on her side, and he spooned her from behind, holding her close, holding his lips close to her ear.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

They woke to brilliant, dazzling sun, glinting off the water. A strong breeze carried the fresh scent of the ocean. Gulls cried and swooped, gathering breakfast. The music of the waves crashing on the rocks below was dramatic, stirring.

And his lips were on her neck, nuzzling. She smiled slow and sultry; her core immediately twitched and warmed. Her nipples hardened, and her muscles went slack. She allowed her gaze to roam the length of his body.

"I have four words to describe you: Mag. Nif. A. Cent."

He chuckled, and took her mouth in a deep kiss. They were interrupted by an attendant.

"Vincent? Catherine? Are you awake?" he called out.

"Yes," answered Vincent.

"May we come up?" asked a female voice.

Vincent sighed. "Yes," he answered resignedly. He didn't want to be interrupted. He and Catherine sat up, stretched, and stood.

A male and a female attendant appeared at the entrance to the cavern. "Court is ready to reconvene. We've come to escort you to the baths, then breakfast," he said.

After breakfast, an attendant escorted them to the throne room, where the audience was assembling. They took their places in front, before the thrones. He pulled her close.

"Whatever happens, Catherine, whatever comes, remember always, I love you," he whispered.

"I love you," she echoed.

The trumpets sounded and Hades and Persephone entered, and took their thrones. The Erinyes flew in, and resumed their places from the previous session.

"Vincent. Catherine," Hades began. "We have come to a decision. We have decided that Catherine's arguments were most compelling, and we agree with her. The blame for the loss of so many lives rests largely upon her shoulders. We could no more find fault with Vincent's behavior than we could find fault with birds for flying, or fish for swimming. Your claws, your teeth, your strength and instincts, Vincent, they are all part of you, as much as your fine mind, and poet's soul. Of course you would use them to defend your beloved. Catherine made the choice many times to put herself in danger, knowing that you would rush to her defense, and what that defense would entail. But," and here he raised his voice and glanced around the room, making sure all heard his cleverness clearly, "we have tempered justice with _mercy_ , and so our judgment is that while Catherine must suffer the consequences of her actions, we sentence her to a mere one hundred years in Tartarus, there to serve as Public Defender of the imprisoned convicts." Magaera flew to her, shoved into her hands a time-clock punch-card, a one-time password generator token, and an ID badge on an alligator clip, and then flew back to her place. "Upon completion of her sentence," and here Hades smiled smugly at Persephone, inviting her to appreciate his new-found flexibility, "she may join Vincent in the Elysian Fields for eternity. Court stands adjourned."

"No!" shouted Vincent. "You will not separate us! I will go with her!"

"How dare you challenge the judgment of the court?" demanded Megaera.

"No, Vincent," said Persephone, "you must obey the judgment of the court. She is to be punished for her crime. You committed no crime, you must not suffer any punishment."

"To be separated from her is the cruelest punishment!" yelled Vincent.

The Court of the Underworld looked at each other in disbelief. "It's only a hundred years!" gasped Tisiphone.

"They were really very lenient," said Alecto.

"He is driven by his love for her," remarked Hades to Persephone.

She considered. "Perhaps if he were to prove to us the depth of his love for her, as dear Orpheus tried to for his Eurydice, perhaps then we could allow for an extraordinary dispensation, as allowed by law."

Hades snorted. "My dear wife, though it brings me great pain to do so, I must reluctantly disagree with you. Orpheus' love for Eurydice was not true, he was not willing to die for her to join her in death. He merely tried to trick us into letting a soul return Above."

"My most esteemed, beloved husband, forgive me for my stubbornness, my argumentative nature. It is a flaw I strive daily to correct. But I must point out here that Catherine did die in order to follow Vincent," Persephone replied.

"Hmmmm…following that line of thought to its logical end, my dear, would it not be better then, for them both to remain here with us, where they could love each other eternally, and never have to part?"

Persephone's brow furrowed in thought.

"After the first hundred years, that is," muttered Catherine.

"Silence," commanded Hades.

"Ah, but husband, a question: if it is the expression of their love that is to be considered, then they _must_ return Above. If they remain here, they can never conceive children."

"Do you regret not having children, Beloved?" Hades asked, shaken, concerned.

" _Me_? Certainly not. I am fulfilled in my role as your wife, and Queen of our Realm. I've no desire for children, never have. I was speaking of _their_ love," she answered.

Hades chuckled, very relieved. "My wife, the romantic." Persephone smiled. "Alright, then, Vincent, you shall go to the Elysian Fields, Catherine shall go to Tartarus and begin her sentence. If you can reach her, and make your way back to the Acheron, I will restore the both of you to your lives Above."

Catherine interjected very quickly, "Your Honor? Are there conditions? What about looking back?"

"My dear Counselor," answered Hades, worn out, "if you are able to, I would appreciated it very much if you would just. Leave. No conditions. Just-get out. If you can."

Vincent pulled Catherine up into his embrace. "I shall see you soon, my love," he murmured.

"Yes, I suppose that is acceptable to all parties, then. And now, COURT ADJOURNED."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

No longer a shade, now solid flesh and blood, her elbows propped up on the table, Catherine held her head in her hands. _I really have died and gone to hell…_ she thought. She sat in a grungy meeting room in the Tartarus prison, across the table from her client rather than next to him, because like so many other addicts, he looked like he had mange. He twitched and scratched constantly.

"…ya' know wuh ahm sayin'? An', look, ahma tell you summon else, summon I ain't never tole no one, iss like diss, see, I got some dope shit planned out, I know some truth, they can spin whatever shit 'bout me they want, they can say whatever they want, 'cuz it ain't about me, it ain't about me, I got ideas, and if I could just get out of here, I could make this place better for everybody—"

"Travis," she interrupted him, "you're not going to make this place better. This is hell. It's not supposed to be good. It's not going to be good. You need to focus, Travis. I am your lawyer. You have to tell me the truth. Did you or did you not DEFECATE in your cell mate's shoes?"

"No, I didn't do that! I would never do that! He a lie, Miz Chan'lah, he a dirty lie, an' he hate me 'cuz the color of my skin!"

"You're white! You are white, he's white! What are you talking about?!"

But it was pointless, he was ranting. There was no point trying to talk to him, anyway, because…

"Travis, I know you did it. We all know you did it. They don't need surveillance systems down here, Travis, they just know things. I know things. So, tomorrow, when we see the judge, all I can do is beg the court for leniency, on the grounds of your tragic stupidity." She pushed back from the table and pounded on the door for the guard to let her out.

"Oh, I'm stupid? You callin' me out my name, now? Well, maybe you racist, too-"

Thankfully, the guard opened the door quickly.

Vincent sighed. No longer a shade, but solid flesh and blood, he sat on an outcropping on the rugged bank of the river Phalynx, aimlessly tossing pebbles in. He could still sense Catherine through their bond; she was frustrated, sad, exhausted, lonely…she missed him. He knew that in Tartarus there was no music, no good food, none of the creature comforts like hot baths and comfortable beds. But she did have hope—no, she had _faith_ that he would come for her. She was waiting. He looked into the water and wondered why he hadn't made love to her. God, how he wanted to…he loved her so much, it made his heart pound; sometimes he forgot to breathe when he thought about her. She understood him. They didn't even have to talk, she knew what he was thinking, what he was feeling. She didn't need a bond, she knew by looking at him. They didn't have to talk, but he loved talking to her. She always made him feel as if there was nothing she'd rather do than listen to him. It always took her a few seconds to think of something to say back, so he knew she was listening, not just thinking of an answer. And her answers were always insightful and original, unexpected; she gave him a lot to think about. She was so clever; she asked questions he'd never considered. Just having her near made him feel good…relaxed…happy. She had such a gentle way of laying her hand on his arm, and of resting her head on his shoulder. And then the scent of her hair would rise, and the scent of her warm, soft skin, and he'd stop talking, imagining how her skin would feel under his fingertips, on his tongue…how smooth it would be, how soft, how she would taste. She knew how he wanted to touch her, caress her, and she knew how he feared to touch her. She fought back her own intense desire, because that's how much she loved him, and he knew it. But one day, one day he would take her in his arms, and he'd let his passion rule, he'd give her the sweetest love he was capable of giving, gently, tenderly, he'd show her all the love he felt—Oh, God, he had to get to her! There must be—

"Vincent, there you are!" a sweet voice sang out. _Erato_ , realized Vincent, Muse of love poetry. Annoyed, he wanted to hiss; he'd just fled to this spot to escape her sister, Calliope. Before that, he'd escaped from a band of human souls, and before that, satyrs. Evidently, perceptions in the Underworld were far different from those of the mortal plane: here he was ardently desired, and in fact, pursued relentlessly. He'd complained about it to Hades, who only laughed at him, and advised him to relax and enjoy it. "Once I find her," Vincent had hissed, "I'll retain her and sue you for sexual harassment." In an instant he was flying through the air, out of the throne room, and rolling in the dust.

Erato skipped down the path nimbly, and sat down prettily next to him, too close to him. She looked like a lovely young girl, with curly chestnut hair framing her face, warm brown eyes, and an upturned nose. "Goodness, Vincent, we're all trying to get to know you, and you make it difficult. It seems you enjoy solitude, and brooding."

"I do."

"Are you unhappy here?"

"I am, very unhappy."

"Oh, no!" She was truly concerned. "We can't have that. Oh, no, we can not have that a' t'all! You must tell me what you need to be happy!"

 _Why do so many people down here have British accents?_ he mused. _Hmmmm…_ Then a thought struck him: _Could I manipulate these people? I might as well try, I have nothing to lose, everything to gain!_

"I just feel so lost, disoriented. I knew the Tunnels of my home so well, and here, I never know exactly where I'm at."

"Oh, my."

"Every map I look at is different. First they're all right, but then they're all wrong."

"Yes, well it's just like your old home, my dear, the ways change. Hades does not want people leaving, it's a quite a blow to his pride."

"So how does one find one's way around?"

"Deities are never confused, but mortal souls often go about with a North Star."

"What's that?"

"Hecate keeps a store of stones in her grotto, black opals that hold raging fire inside. The stones act as compasses."

"Will you take me to her grotto?"

Erato smiled. "Not for free."

Vincent sighed. "What do you want?"

"Would it be too much to ask for a kiss? Would a single caress cost you too dearly?"

Slowly, he leaned close to her. He caressed her cheek with his own; then he pulled back. He looked into her eyes, leaned down, and kissed her lips lightly. Pulling back, he reached up, and caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

She kept her eyes closed and murmured, "I could die in this moment, and never regret it!" She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Ah, lips so sweet, brushing mine with a taste of honey, making me wild with want for more!"

He smiled at her. "A smile, too, unbidden, unconditional, unselfish, extemporaneously tossed off? Well, then…here we are."

He looked around, and found himself in a lush grotto, covered with moss, light filtering in through the bushy overgrowth at the mouth. Erato was gone.

Looking around, Vincent wondered if the grotto had been a temple at one time, but now fallen to ruin. He climbed up two steps onto a stage. A fissure in the back wall opened into a narrow tunnel. A light was shining at the end, and he stepped forward to investigate.

He was within an arm's reach of the source of the light when he saw movement from within. He started to back out. The figure rose, and at first, he could not fathom what it was. It appeared to have a human form, but there were too many arms, legs…heads. By the time they re-entered the cavern, she stood before him, Triple Hecate. She was one deity, but had three complete bodies. She began to speak, and as she did, she slowly rotated around on an invisible axis.

"I am Hecate, goddess of the earth, blessing the daily lives of mortals," she said. She appeared to be a very young woman, perhaps in her late teens or early 20's. Her skin and eyes were fresh and bright, her lips soft and full. "The earth is fertile, the land is rich…" she went on.

The form revolved to that of a mature woman, and she appeared to be in her forties. Her voice was low and mellow, and she had a soft, motherly look. "I am Hecate, a portion of the heavens is mine to rule. I am the moon, glowing pale and gentle in the night sky. I am patient, I have earned my maturity…"

The form revolved again, this time an old woman faced him. "I am Hecate," she intoned. "I hold rule and sway over a portion of the Underworld, over dark powers, necromancy, witchcraft and sorcery. Where three roads converge, there do I rule."

Vincent knelt before her, bowed his head, and quoted _Theogony_ , by Hesiod, "'Mighty Goddess, Hecate, whom Zeus the son of Cronos honored above all. He gave you splendid gifts, to have a share of the earth and the unfruitful sea. You received honor also in starry heaven, and are honored exceedingly by the deathless gods. Great honor comes full easily to him whose prayers the goddess receives favorably, and she bestows wealth upon him; for the power surely is with her. For as many as were born of Earth and Ocean amongst all these she has her due portion. The son of Cronos did her no wrong nor took anything away of all that was her portion among the former Titan gods: but she holds, as the division was at the first from the beginning, privilege both in earth, and in heaven, and in sea.'"

He remained still before her, head bowed. She laid her hand on his head. "My son, you do me great honor by remembering me so well. Receive my blessing." A warmth flowed through his body, and he felt full of strength.

"Mighty Hecate, Gracious Hecate, I come humbly before you, not even daring to raise my eyes to look upon your glory. Please, most Benevolent Hecate, look with pity upon me, and favorably hear my prayer. Guide my steps to find my love, and lead us safely out of Tartarus, and out of the Underworld. If you grant my prayer, most Beautiful, most Powerful Hecate, I will extol your name throughout the world, build your shrine, and consecrate your altar."

"What a beautiful prayer, Vincent. It's been so long since a mortal has praised my name, or sent a prayer up to me…of course I shall grant your request, and more. Vincent," she called his name softly, "don't be afraid to look at me."

Slowly, Vincent raised his eyes. Hecate was in her 'crone' aspect, but nonetheless lovely. Vincent could see the wisdom of the ages in her shining eyes, and her smile was soft and warm. Hecate held out two black opals, each the size of a robin's egg, each mounted on a silver chain. Fire seemed to burn inside them. "Take them, Vincent, and they will guide you and Catherine. My son, there is not much I can give you. You already possess strength, courage, and intelligence. Your vision is excellent but I will make it a little better: I will add to it. I will share with you my power to heal, especially to heal madness. I will share with you my knowledge of plants and their powers, light, fertility, dogs, and necromancy. I will share with you the power of the crossroads, and by this sign I do seal my power in you."

Vincent looked down to see a 'y' shaped tattoo just above his left wrist. When he looked back up, she was gone, and the opals, the North Stars, were in his hand.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Setting out at sunrise, he followed the stones. He held them in his hands, thought about Catherine, and then the knowledge was his of what direction to go. He crossed meadows, plains, and then followed a dried out riverbed for most of the day. The sun sailed high through a cloudless sky; it was warm, and his footsteps kicked up small dust clouds.

It was the middle of the afternoon when Vincent stopped to rest. The sheer sides of mountains rose up on either side of the pass he walked; a small waterfall splashed cold, pure water; he cupped his hands, and drank. He sat on a boulder for a moment, setting down his backpack beside him. He gazed at the path ahead. There was a large formation of stalactites jutting out at angles from the mountain sides, stalagmites rising from the floor of the pass. Then they all began to move.

Slowly at first, and then picking up force and speed, the rocks crashed together, then drew back again, a weird ballet to first position. _That mouth wants to chew me up,_ he mused. He could hear a deep rumbling from within the formation, hungry guts growling to be filled with his flesh.

The North Stars hung around his neck; he grasped them in his hand, and opened his mind. He fell into a daydream of sorts, about the pockets and ledges that were part of the rock formation.

He pulled off his boots and socks. Vincent's claws didn't grow as long from his toes as they did from his fingers, but they were present, and his toes were very strong and agile. He shrugged off his cape, vest, and stripped down to his bare chest. When his fur was exposed, he gained a huge advantage in sensing proximity to objects. He rolled up all his discarded clothes and stuffed them into his pack.

He set his pack on his shoulders, squared them, took a breath, and took off at a run for the chompers. He leapt and flew through the air, landing in a niche on a descending stalactite. He landed in a crouched position, and immediately sprang forward, landing on a ledge on a transverse traveling stalagmite. He spied a solid handhold in a pillar of moving rock before him, and he sprang. He landed securely, but the column began to slowly spin. He pushed off and dropped onto a ledge, from which he sprang into a pocket just in time to escape being hit by a descending boulder.

And so he made his way through, leaping, crouching, pushing off, sometimes scrambling up a rocky surface, as the rocks crashed, traveled and spun. At the very end, just as he was pushing off a ledge to exit, stalactites dropped and stalagmites rose to meet and capture the material of his trouser leg. He dangled for a second, flailing; then the rock began to spin. He gained momentum, finally spinning fast enough to cause him to fly spread-eagled, horizontal to the ground. The material of his trousers gave, and as it ripped, he flew into the mountain wall beyond the chomper.

Catherine sat silently at the defense table in between her clients. She watched the judges sitting at their bench. Minos finished reading a file, stamped it, and passed it to Rhadamanthus. Rhadamanthus finished signing the last form in a thick stack of paper, and passed the stack to Aeacus. Aeacus sat back, arms folded across his chest, staring at the frozen computer screen, waiting for IT to call him back.

"How long we been sittin' here?" asked Gemma, too loudly.

"What difference does it make?" asked Clay. "I'd rather sit here than in my cell."

"I want a cigarette," said Gemma, too loudly.

"There's no smoking here," whispered Catherine. "Gemma, you've got to keep your voice down."

"You haven't had a cigarette in two years, Gemma," rasped Clay, "you have to be over the cravings by now."

"Miss Chandler," Minos admonished, "you have failed to file your NSOA 15-2202, your NHB 16-055, and your NPR 9329."

"And we can't proceed until your clients have completed their T800M101 Certifications," droned Rhadamanthus. "What were you thinking, Miss Chandler?"

"You should know about cravings, you filthy pig fucker, you never could keep it in your pants."

"Control your clients, Miss Chandler," warned Minos.

"I'm sorry, Your Honor," said Catherine.

"What in the fuck was that about?" whispered Clay.

"Like you don't know. Like I have to tell you. I see the way you look at her," hissed Gemma, indicating Catherine.

"Her?" asked Clay, incredulous. "One. She's a total tool. Two. She's fat."

"WHO'S fat?" demanded Catherine, standing.

"Miss Chandler!" yelled Rhadamanthus.

"Sorry, honey, you're just not my type," murmured Clay.

"What type is that? Washed-out slut?" snarled Catherine.

Gemma tapped her on the shoulder, and when she turned, she punched her in the nose so hard that Catherine flew backward. When she landed on the floor, the button on the waistband of her skirt, and the buttons of her blouse flew off, sailing all the way across the courtroom. As her double chin and body fat popped up against her clothes, Catherine started to sob.

The sun was setting in a red-washed horizon. Vincent left off his examination of his mutilated right hand when the tide of Catherine's despair engulfed him. His heart felt heavy, grieving for her. He resolved to leave his half-roasted fish staked beside his campfire, wrap his hand and resume the trail when he felt a feathery light touch on his shoulder.

"She's going to be alright, Vincent," said Hecate softly. "You need to rest, eat, heal."

"Hecate," he implored, "I must get to her."

"Please trust me when I tell you that although she is very sad right now, she will be fine. She will rest, she will eat, she will sleep, and she will rise again tomorrow. You must do likewise."

Vincent sighed, and bowed his head. "I accede to your greater wisdom, Goddess."

"I know it's not easy for you," she said kindly. "Let's take a look at your hand." He held it out to her. "You can heal that, you know."

He looked down at his hand. He turned it over once, then twice, and then it was healed. He made a fist; he flexed it. He looked up at Hecate.

"Thank you, goddess. Will you eat with me?" he asked.

She smiled and nodded. He helped her lower herself to the ground, and sat beside her. He handed her one of the spits, and she began to tear off pieces of fish, and eat. He'd found wild grapes, olives and plums, and gave her a share of them.

"It's all very good," she praised him.

"Thanks to you, Great Hecate," he answered. He offered her the canteen.

Twilight settled over the plain as they finished their meal. One by one, stars appeared in the still light sky. "Twilight is one of my favorite times of day," she said. "Twilight and dawn, the two times of day when the world is suspended in a state of transition. Change looms; decisions are no longer avoidable, a course of action must be chosen, commitments made."

Vincent nodded. "Possibilities stretch endlessly before us."

"Yes. But one cannot exist in a state of indecision, confused and vacillating. One must choose a path, and walk it."

"It is sometimes difficult to know which path to follow."

"Yes. But it's always best to start by knowing who you are."

He rose and stepped away. The corner of his mouth tugged up in a sad half-smile, and he shook his head. "That is the question, Goddess, the very theme of my life. Who, or rather what, am I?" He paused for a moment, then realization dawned on him. "Goddess—you must know—please tell me, where did I come from?"

She sighed. "One day, you will know your origins. But the time for that revelation has been ordained, and is not now upon us, I'm sorry. But," she stood up as she continued, "this is the time for you to look inside yourself, and embrace all that is there." She nodded. "All."

"Embrace a raging beast?"

"Is it a raging beast or is it the strength of a warrior? And perhaps more importantly, is it really possible for you to keep that part of yourself caged, as it were? Can one man be two separate beings at the same time?" She approached him and laid a hand on his arm. "Can you live a full life hating yourself?"

"How can I accept the part of me that glories in shredding men to ribbons?"

"THAT, Vincent, is the question you must answer for yourself." She turned, and seated herself on a boulder. "You see yourself as a kind teacher, a gentle friend, a loving son, a scholar, a poet…and you abhor the warrior that dwells among them."

"A skulking, ferocious killer, devoid of conscience, that thrills in the smell of hot blood and the screams of the dying. My heart pounds then, with joy, at their agony. I _am_ the monster Paracelsus accused me of being."

"Are you sure that's the monster, not the human? Are you sure every human doesn't harbor a monster he uses to defend himself and his loved ones? I think you forget it's your father that sends you out to kill to protect your Tunnel family. Think about that. Your father will do anything to avoid violence, and yet even he concedes that there are times when one must kill to protect those he loves. And he sends you. He doesn't procure a weapon and go out himself, your Tunnel family don't arm themselves and go out, they send you. They see you as a weapon. They see you as a brother, a teacher, a kind and gentle friend, but also, as a weapon. And it's Catherine you're protecting when you kill those who threaten her. So are you sure that it's not the poet that is the unusual part of you? And what of the monster that dwells in your victims? Consider the men Paracelsus sent to abduct Catherine so that the reporter could witness you protecting her. What of their monsters? Did they not revel in seeing the fear in her eyes? Did they not take great joy in knowing she could not fight them off? And what fate did they ultimately intend for her?"

He turned to consider her, his hooded eyes dark.

"She'd seen their faces," she continued. "They are here, they dwell in Tartarus if you'd like to ask them. Were they not ruled by their monsters, to murder an innocent man and attack an innocent woman-for _money_?" She shook her head slightly. "You know, Vincent, after you fight, Zeus sometimes says, sarcastically, that you're upset because you won, and there might be a grain of truth in that." They fell silent, gazing at the emerging stars for some time.

"Sometimes one feels guilty about winning," she murmured at last. "I am of the race of Titans, Vincent. In the very beginning, Father Sky and Mother Earth lay together, and brought forth many children. Father Sky hated his children, and locked them up inside Mother Earth. Mother was distressed, and sought to free her children. Mother fashioned a sickle, and asked each of her sons to kill their father. Only Cronos, the youngest born, would agree, for he hated his father. When Father came to lay with Mother, Cronos wielded the sickle, and castrated Father. From the blood that spilled on sea foam sprang Aphrodite; from the blood that spilled on sea sprang the Erinyes; from the blood that spilled on the earth sprang I. I helped Cronos free the rest of the Titans from Mother Earth. We were mighty, Vincent, we were the forces of nature…but then from beneath us rose up a generation stronger. I fell in love with one of them, Hades. And when Zeus rose up against Cronos, I joined with Zeus and Hades and helped them defeat Cronos. The Titans were vanquished. Our youth ended, the sun set on our era."

"Hecate, there is no goddess more vibrant than you."

She smiled her gratitude for his kindness. "I thought Hades loved me. I thought I would rule the Underworld by his side, as his queen. But he fell in love with Persephone. And so I betrayed my brothers, my sisters, for what? A dream. A very foolish dream."

"No. No, goddess," he said softly. "Persephone is lovely, but Hades was a fool to lose you. Of all the goddesses, you are the most lovely, the wisest, the warmest, and you have the most loving heart. Your love for mortals is unsurpassed among the gods, and humanity cherishes your spirit of the tranquil hearth above all others."

She sighed. "Well, I shall reach out to the vibrant, desirable goddess within me."

"And I shall reach out to the beast."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

She stared in the mirror in disbelief. _That's not me…_ that _cannot be me…_ The image that gazed back at her was… _fat!_ Her face was… _bloated!_ She had patches of acne and blackheads on her forehead and on her cheeks. Her eyes were puffy, swollen. She had a shag haircut.

She opened her closet door… _cue the soundtrack from_ _Psycho_ … _the nightmare continues…_ her clothes were all from the 70's, and not any kind of 'retro' 70's, or 'inspired by' the 70's, it was all that ugly, trashy crap in flat tones of violet, pea green, and ochre, and horrible stripes and prints straight out of the actual '70's. _Flower-power, my fat ass!_

Under a gray sky, shoulder to shoulder amidst a throng of agonized souls, she pounded the pavement on her way to work in her white go-go boots and mini skirt, featuring her fat, chafing thighs and rotund, jiggling ass. As she marched, she could hear the opening strains of _In-A-Godda-Da-Vida…_

As she reached her desk, her assistant grabbed her by her elbow and waist and swept her into the director's office. A photographer was taking pictures, and she was pushed into a prominent position in the foreground.

"What are the pictures for?" she asked, upon exiting.

"Billboards," answered her assistant.

She clenched her teeth, jowls protruding, bloated cheeks apple red, her fury glaring from her beady, puffy eyes.

Returning to her desk, she watched Megaera seated on a dark cloud, flying, buzzing low, dropping a stack of files into her in-box, cackling maniacally as she soared away.

"Miss Chandler," moaned Hades from his bench in Trial Division One, "honestly, your brief is a disaster, most of the precedents you cite were overturned some time ago, and as usual, your mandatory filings are incomplete, inaccurate…" he shook his head. "I'm going to hold the defendant over on the basis of this mish-mash-mess you've presented. Let's see if you can get this cleaned up by the time the trial starts." He banged his gavel.

"What?" asked Dexter. He stood next to her at the defendant's table, and turned to her. "So I have to spend the weekend in jail because you fucked up your paperwork?" The deputies started pulling him away. "Hey, Cathy? Cathy? Hey, hey, look, here's you." She looked up, and he was holding her decapitated head, blood dripping from the severed throat. He smiled and nodded at her as the deputies pulled him away.

"Alright, people," Persephone called the meeting to order, "let's begin. We've received a request from our Dread Lord, Hades, to remodel the entrance to the Underworld, so as to make it more welcoming to the new arrivals. So, those of you with offices lining the outer rim, ah, Grief, Anxiety, Diseases, Old Age, Fear, Hunger, Death, Agony, Sleep…aaaaand you, Guilty Pleasures, any thoughts on how to cheer things up a bit?"

"How about having some music?" said Catherine. No one acknowledged that she'd spoken.

Agony said, "What if we had some music, maybe some Adult Contemporary, or Jazz?"

"Splendid!" cried Persephone. Catherine looked around, trying to figure out what happened. "Let's give it some thought, and we'll discuss ideas over the next few weeks. Next, we've been hearing complaints that no one is cleaning up after Cerberus. So, Centaurs, Gorgons and Harpies, I leave it to you to develop a maintenance schedule. Next item…"

Catherine's mind wandered. She focused on the dresses the Gorgons were wearing. She had to admit, stomach twisting with envy, they were fetching. Were they prettier than she? She had to wonder. They were tall, slim, and did not have only snakes for hair, but rather, had snakes growing amid blonde hair. _Hmmm, yes, but was it natural blonde? Those roots looked dark…_ Of course there was no denying the attention they were receiving from the Satyrs.

She closed her eyes and sighed. If she had even one friend, this would have been so much easier to deal with. But there was no one, no one at work, no one outside of work that wanted to be her friend. No one wanted to talk to her, no one wanted to listen to her. Her throat swelled; tears threatened. She overheard one of the other attorneys muttering, "There she goes again, cry-baby." The jangling pain of a headache began to tingle in her temples.

She peered into the break room refrigerator, searching for her lunch. It was a revolting odyssey: the racks themselves were invisible, they being so solidly packed with plastic boxes and bags of food, many containing rotting leftovers from lunches of yore; the shelves on the door were filthy; the glass over the crisper bins was coated with spilled gravy, catsup and soda pop; a truly vulgar stench wafted up from its depths.

She turned, and spotted her lunch tote: Agony was sitting at a table, eating from it. Agony was eating _her_ turkey and swiss with avocado, apple slices with cheddar, crème filled vanilla snack cake, and diet cola. Agony smiled, and waived. Catherine stared.

"Who do you think you're talking to? When you look at me, what is it that you think you see? If you think you're dealing with the same small-time pukes you've been dealing with, you'd better think again, before it's too late-"

"Walt," she tried to interrupt his rant.

"I _am_ the danger! My product was the best ever to come to market. By every quality measure that exists, my product was the most pure-"

"Walter, seriously, you have to _shut up_ ," she warned. Aeacus was starting to look genuinely pissed off.

"You shut up, you ignorant twat! You're not worth the powder it would take for me to snuff you out! Do you think I would think twice about offing you?" he railed at her, spattering her with droplets of saliva. "You-"

Blue thunder bolts shot out of Aeacus' eyes, vaporizing Walter. He glared at Catherine. She sighed and gathered her papers into her briefcase. A few errant sheets slipped out of her grasp, and she bent to retrieve them. As she did so, she inadvertently broke wind, a loud, long, ripping blast.

The courtroom erupted into roars of laughter. Mortified, blushing crimson, she slinked out.

Walking back to the office, she looked up and saw the billboard advertising the greatness of the PD's office. She saw herself prominently featured, and hideous. Tears welled in her eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Vincent turned the spit over the fire, exposing a different side of the duck to the heat. He'd bathed in the river he was following, and swam for a bit after. He was underwater, looked up, and saw a duck swimming on the surface. He was so tired of fish, the duck was in his hands almost before he knew he was reaching for it. He didn't remember wringing its neck.

Now he was roasting it, and it smelled so good. He offered belated thanks to its spirit for nourishing him. While he waited for it to cook, he snacked on the fruits and nuts he'd gathered. He stretched out on his side, chewing, resting his head on his fist. The smell of the duck reminded him of the last time he'd eaten duck. It was at the wedding reception for Henry and Lin Pei.

He remembered a night on her balcony, a few days before the wedding, talking to Catherine about them. He'd said, "Why does fate conspire to keep lovers apart?" She'd answered, "Or bring them together when it's impossible?" with a look so intense that he'd felt it all the way down to his toes. Every day his feelings grew more intense for her, and the more intense his feelings became, the harder it was for him to control himself. And the harder it was for him to control himself, the more convinced he became that he would not be able to control himself at all should their relationship become physical. And as much as he loved her, his fear of losing himself in his animal nature was greater than his love for her.

No one knew how strongly he was influenced by his animal nature. He was afraid for anyone to know. After Catherine's father died, the time she spent Below excited some of the strongest yearnings he'd ever felt. By the time she returned Above, the effort it cost him to remain in control was almost physically painful. He'd fled then to the lower levels, to where the Nameless River flowed. He'd shed his clothes, rolled in the dirt, ran through those tunnels, roaring and jumping over chasms. He stopped to lower his face down to the water to drink from the river. He sat on the bank, and felt the itch. His skin itched all over, under his fur. It was the need to hunt. There was no denying it this time, he was too far gone into his primal self. His instinct told him to wait for dark Above, then go out and hunt down some rabbits. Satisfied and content to wait the few hours until dark, he strolled along the river bank, naked, feeling free, feeling strong, feeling like a god, as if he were in his realm, and he was in control of all that was or could be.

He crawled through a small, natural cave that opened to the surface; it was in the middle of a small stand of trees. A cobweb stretched across the entrance; a spider sat in the middle. Vincent reached out and swatted it, crushing it under his palm. He looked out over the park. Absentmindedly, he ate the spider as he studied the landscape. He sniffed the air, and caught the scent of rabbits. He could see the heat trail they'd left as they'd moved through the park. Leaving the cave, he followed their trail, stealthily, crouching. Ah, this felt good, he felt free, branches and leaves scraping across his bare skin, the breeze gently lifting his fur, the floor of the forest under the pads on his feet—barely there, but yes, you would call them pads, and the scents he was picking up, rabbits, surely, but also birds, squirrels, human fear, feral cats—

 _Wait a minute, back the truck up: human fear?_ He proceeded slowly, silently, following the scent. As he followed, he recognized the scent of fecal material, and unwashed human. Two hundred feet away, he caught the sight of a man sodomizing a woman; he could hear her crying. She was on all fours, and he was kneeling behind her. He saw the man shudder, and he caught the scent of seminal fluid. He curled his lip and snorted in disgust. _Why can't these filthy human pigs do their dirty work in the privacy of their own hovels?_ he wondered. Then the man pulled a gun out of jacket pocket. He pulled his member out of the woman's rectum, pushed the barrel of the gun in, and pulled the trigger.

Vincent saw the top of her head explode; he was shocked. The man chuckled and said, "I always wanted to see what would happen if I did that." Then seriously, "That's what happens when you don't pay up, bitch." He started to pull his pants up, but that fast, Vincent was on top of him, pinning him face down on the ground. He caught his breath; he didn't want to show this man the mercy of a quick death. He rolled him over, and made a small cut in the man's neck, below his Adam's apple, through his trachea. He grabbed the man's left hand, and in a few seconds broke every bone from his fingers to his clavicle. Vincent positioned the man's index and middle fingers in the hole in his trachea, to keep it open so he could breathe. The hole was below his vocal chords, so he made no sound as he screamed. Vincent sat on him for a moment, planning the rest of the man's death, smiling at his agony, long canines glistening white in the moonlight. He didn't want him moving around too much, and he didn't want him passing out, either. He went through his jacket pockets, and pulled out a huge wad of cash, and a bag of white powder. He sniffed the outside of the bag: cocaine. Perfect. He used the tip of one claw to poke a small hole in the bag. He sprinkled just a tad over the hole in the man's trachea. As the man drew breath, he inhaled the cocaine. Vincent watched his pupils dilate until he could no longer see the color his eyes. Perfect. He then set the bag aside carefully. He would need it later. He slid down the man's thighs a bit, poked a claw into his abdomen, and drew it laterally across his skin, making an eight inch long incision through skin, fat, and muscle. Then he fished his index finger into the wound. Here the man started putting up some real resistance with his right hand, so Vincent took a moment to dislocate his forearm from his elbow, then his upper arm from his shoulder. He relished all the popping, snapping and crunching sounds he was making with this raping, murdering, torturing, drug dealing bastard. He then made a fist of the man's hand, surrounded it with his own hands, and squeezing, crushed every bone. He didn't think he'd be able to move it, but just for good measure, he broke the man's forearm like a pencil.

He watched the man's face for a moment. Tears were streaming from his eyes, snot running freely from his nose. Vincent could smell fecal matter and urine; he smiled. He resumed his probe into the incision. He hooked a finger around the man's small intestine, and pulled up a loop through the incision. Then before the man's horrified eyes, he slowly pulled every inch of bowel out of his body.

"Anthony?" a voice called softly. Vincent cocked his head. "Anthony, what the hell are you doing? Hurry up!" Vincent wished he could've enjoyed the show a little longer, but the situation being what it was, he knew he couldn't. He slid his hand into the incision and then up, groping for Anthony's heart. He found it, wrapped his hand around it, and felt it beating. He used his claws to carefully sever all the veins and arteries running in and out of it, and pulled it from its thoracic cavity. He pulled it out through the incision, and lifted it to Anthony's eyes; they watched it beat. He sprinkled it with cocaine; it beat faster. Then Vincent squeezed his fist closed around it. Tissue oozed out from between his fingers, and before Anthony's dying eyes, blood ran down Vincent's wrist. With a sigh of regret, wishing he had more time to savor the scene, Vincent stood, placed a restraining foot on Anthony's pelvis, and braced his other foot on earth. He reached down, picked up Anthony's leg, and ripped it off his body. He then crouched down behind some brush, and waited for Anthony's friends to come to investigate.

Within a minute, a second voice was cursing softly, "Anthony! Anthony, goddammit, hurry your ass up! We gotta get moving!" Then in a few seconds, the first voice again, "Goddammit, you mother fucker!" and a crashing through the bush started. They froze at the sight of Anthony's mutilated body. The beast in Vincent leapt for joy, for they stood frozen just a few feet in front of him. Vincent rose silently and swang Anthony's leg at their heads, stunning them.

He grabbed one of them and bent him backward, snapping his spine. Vincent let him fall to the ground. He grabbed the other one by the throat, and lifting him with one hand, raked the claws of his other hand across his abdomen. He was in his element; he felt power, like the harmony of a song, coursing through him, lifting him up, setting his heart soaring. He lowered the man to earth, and used both hands to twist his head around, breaking his neck; he let him drop. He looked at the second accomplice; he was still twitching. Vincent strode over to him, raised his foot, and then stomped his skull until his brains squirted out.

Vincent's heart sang! He was the god, this was his territory, he ruled it! Three kills in one night, two fairly quick, one a lesson in the law, the law of the forest, his law: do unto others as you would have them do unto you. _Bitch_. If you're going to hurt people, then I'm going to hurt you. He tracked down a few bunnies and killed them quickly, before they even knew they were captured. He thanked their spirits for providing him with nourishment. He made his way back Below.

He made camp at the spot where he'd shed his clothes earlier. He sat cross-legged, and gutted and skinned the bunnies. Peeling their flesh off their bones, he ate them warm, juicy and raw. _If humans only knew how delicious they were…_ he mused. His thoughts returned to Catherine. Catherine was the pinnacle of human development: her body, her face, but just as importantly, her refinement. She was gentle, her voice soft, she was graceful, she loved beautiful clothes, adornment, music, poetry, literature. Would Catherine ever suck raw bunny meat off the bone, then dip her face into a river to drink? Never. The man he allowed her to see, the teacher/scholar/poet was a lie, a big fat lie, a fabrication. This is what he really was, squatting to relieve himself and then kicking dirt over the mess to bury it, smacking his bunny-blood coated lips. He sighed. He headed to the hot springs, to wash and soak.

 _Catherine_. She was so beautiful the night of Lin and Henry's wedding, flowers in her hair, lovely white silk gown flowing over her body. How many times had he fantasized about her since then, lying on his bed, flowers in her hair, opening up that gown to reveal herself, naked, a light film of perspiration broken out over her entire body, hot and hungry for him? He closed his eyes, and once more imagined laying down next to her, taking her in his arms, reveling in the feel of the entire length of her smooth body against his, running his lips down her throat, her breasts…her abdomen…gently spreading her legs, running his lips across her heat, gently lapping up her hot juices—

"Well, now, brother, spending another night spanking the monkey?" He didn't bother opening his eyes; he recognized the grating sound of The Other's voice. He tipped his head back and rested it against the bank of the spring. The Other sat on the opposite bank and dangled his legs in the water. The Other spoke quietly, "Brother, would it be so terrible to tell her that you are not human, you are not animal, but you are both, and you have needs of both worlds. Don't you think you could tell her that you need to hunt, to take down prey? She eats meat. She just has other people kill it for her. Do you really think she would judge you? What does she think you have fangs and claws for?"

Vincent shook his head. "I don't know…"

"You feel like you're keeping a terrible secret from her," said The Other.

"Yes."

"But she's seen you kill. Remember when The Outsiders invaded your home, and killed several members of your family? You killed them, Vincent, and she saw you killing them. Especially Micah. Remember?"

"Yes," Vincent said. He recollected, nodding his head slightly. "Micah was their leader, probably made so by virtue of his advanced level of depravity." He paused, replaying the event in his mind's eye. "Micah lusted for Catherine. I enjoyed slinging him back and forth, smashing his body against one side of the tunnel, then sending him flying to the other."

"I suspect that at least some part of Catherine enjoyed watching you do it. But she knows that once your passion passes away, you feel horrible remorse for killing. So for that reason, she called out to you to stop."

Vincent pulled his thoughts away from his recollections; he turned the duck a quarter rotation on the spit. _The only reason Catherine called out to me to stop beating Micah was that she did not want me to suffer from guilt and remorse for my actions. She didn't judge me. And afterward, I asked her, 'How can you even look at me?' and her answer was that she loved me. She wanted to stay with me, and I forced her to go. I had to insist. I will talk to her…_

"Yes, Catherine, thanks for coming in. Have a seat," said Tisiphone pleasantly. Tisiphone had a small office, but it was nicely decorated, with comfortable chairs.

Catherine sat, but she wasn't fooled by Tisiphone's show of pleasantry. Her guard was up.

"Now, Catherine, last week you missed Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. That of course results in one attendance point, and added to the four you already have—"

"What do you mean? I was sick, you know I was too sick to work; I had a fever, I went to the Emergency Room."

"Now just calm down, Catherine. Just because you went to the Emergency Room, that doesn't excuse your absence."

"What about FMLA?"

"That only applies to absences of more than three days duration."

"Says who? That's not part of the law."

"Catherine, I warn you, you are on the brink of insubordination. It may not be part of the law, but it is part of our attendance policy."

"You can't write a policy that conflicts with Federal law!"

"Alright, Catherine, I'm giving you a written warning for attendance based on your five points. And I'm also writing you up for insubordination and having a bad attitude."

"I'm already dead and in hell," Catherine sneered at her. "What else can you do to me?" Almost as she spoke, she smelled an awful odor rise from her skin.

"Wear that for a few days, bitch, and work on your attitude," she snarled and stomped out.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Vincent stared into the flames of his campfire. Night had descended over the plain, and the sky was full of stars. Crickets chirped, tiny tree frogs whistled, and a soft breeze wafted across his face. He was warm; he pulled off his boots, socks, jeans. _What the hell_ , he thought, and took off the rest. He rested his back against the sheer rock wall behind him, and stretched his long legs out. His campsite was within a hundred yards of the entrance to Tartarus, a mammoth sink hole. The rivers of hell converged and formed a giant falls down into the pit. His sense of Catherine was strong; she was writhing in emotional pain.

Off in the distance, he saw one of Hecate's nightly romps in progress. He smiled in spite of himself, thinking about Hecate's party troupe: ghosts, dogs, misfits, outcasts, Eleanor Rigby, all the lonely souls who skirted the outer fringe of society. Beautiful people need not apply. He would fit in, Catherine would not.

He mused the point. How would that be, if he were to attend one of Hecate's parties with Catherine as his plus one? What would that be like, if the room welcomed his entrance, but shrank back in revulsion at the sight of Catherine? What if he felt their warm embrace, but then witnessed their rejection of Catherine? What if it were she who went around hiding in shadows, her face cloaked? What if she were the one who felt like she did not deserve him, what if she made a habit of telling him that he was too good for her?

What if she sent him away, to find someone to love him and give him the good life he deserved?

It would kill him, that's what.

He would break. He realized that if she felt about herself the way he felt about himself, it would break him.

So, what to do? Was there any part of The Other he could accept? Any part? Perhaps The Other's superior senses and reflexes? They had saved Vincent's life hundreds of times.

Well, then, he would be happy with that. He was grateful for The Other's superior senses and reflexes. He rubbed his hand over his chest, in part scratching, partly absently stroking.

Come to think of it, he admired The Other's decisiveness. He could spend hours if not weeks agonizing over alternatives, trying to predict all the possible outcomes, but The Other quickly reviewed the options, made a choice and stuck with it. Hecate had said something about decisiveness being admirable. She'd also compared him to a warrior. He found he could tolerate that image. A warrior, a champion; yes, he could like that aspect of The Other. _But of course, there is no Other…there's only me. I have defended many people from harm. I have protected people I love, and innocent people I didn't even know. And, yes, I can feel good about that._

He bent his knee and rubbed the inside of his thigh. He recalled those occasions when he had rescued Catherine, before he came to himself and remembered to feel ashamed, his heart had swelled with pride. He had been aware of the power in his arms and legs, and his massive chest, and he felt like a conqueror, a khan. He sneered at those who would dare threaten his mate, he beheld the shreds that were left of them with contempt.

He felt his erection stiffen. He looked at himself, and for the first time, he felt proud. Proud of his form, his fur, his body, and his erection. He drew his fingertips softly from his knee to his groin. He took his time pleasuring himself, fantasizing about making love to Catherine under the stars. _Just wait_ , he promised himself, _I'll make her moan…moan, and scream my name…YES!_

He laid his head down, closed his eyes, and still smiling, fell asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

At sunrise, he looked out over the falls, and while he wondered how he was supposed to actually get down into Tartarus, he absentmindedly worked one of the North Stars in his hand. He facetiously imagined a carriage made out of the mist rising from the falls, with a team of four unicorns hitched to it.

And there it stood before him, floating on a cushion of rainbows and glitter. He willed it to be gone, and it vanished.

Did he dare create what he really wanted? Oh, yes…

There before him stood Bucephalus, the horse of Alexander the Great; a giant, black, snorting stallion, pawing the ground, tearing up huge clods of turf. Vincent smiled and mounted, and charged off toward the edge of the falls.

He found himself walking down a crowded urban street, very reminiscent of Times Square. He saw Catherine's image on a billboard, extolling the accomplishments of the Public Defender's Office. He noticed that the sharp angles of her hips and ribs had softened; he marveled at her beauty.

Below that, a breaking news report was playing on the display. "…more problems in the Public Defender's Office, yet another new arrival having a hard time making the transition into the demands of the job. We don't know her name yet, but she's ninety-three stories up, out on the ledge and threatening to jump…" Vincent got a queasy feeling in his stomach, and gripped the North Stars.

"Cath-rine!" yelled Persephone in her clearly enunciated, too-loud British pronunciation. She was leaning out the window, flanked on both sides by the rest of the staff. "Cath-rine, do be reasonable now, and come in!"

"No!"

Persephone sighed in exasperation. "Cath-rine, you're already dead! If you jump, we mop you up, and you work from inside a jug! Is that what you want?"

"Leave me alone!" she howled.

"Well, I tried," shrugged Persephone. "Better start looking for a receptacle. I wonder if there's an empty wine box in the dust bin?"

Vincent came bounding through the office, and shouldered his way through to the window sill. He climbed up and out, onto the ledge.

Catherine was standing, leaning back on the building wall. When she saw Vincent, she turned away. "No! Vincent, don't look at me! Don't look!"

He froze where he was. "Catherine, my love, what is it? What's wrong?"

"No, Vincent, please don't look! I'm hideous! Hideous!"

He almost fell off the ledge, himself. "Catherine, no, how can you say such a thing?"

"It's true! I'm fat, my face is broken out, my clothes are ugly and they're too tight!"

"Catherine—" he started, and stopped. It hit him then, just how she must have felt for two years, trying to convince him of his own self-worth. And he knew then, you can't be sold on your own self-worth; it's something you have to fight to hang on to everyday. No one can give it to you; you have to make a decision to take it, and hang on.

"And I'm stupid, and incompetent, and I'll never be any better than what I am right now. I want to be dead…I want to be dead, Vincent, I want to stay dead. Leave me here, please. Just leave me."

"No," he said. This was not going to be pretty, so he just went for it. He lunged, grabbed her around the waist, and dragged her back in through the window.

His heart was breaking. She was so despondent that she wasn't even fighting, just shielding her face from his view. This should have been a happy reunion, but because of her self-hate, it was just more agony.

"She really is very fat," sniggered Tisiphone, and the entire staff burst out into derisive laughter.

"She's leaving. You are all damned to misery for eternity. Laugh about that," snarled Vincent. They were silenced.

"Okay, that felt good," Catherine mumbled from under her hands.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Catherine's outlook had improved once out of Tartarus. Her face was still broken out, still bloated; she was still overweight. But she had quit hiding her face. She had regained some of her optimism. She smiled, and sometimes laughed.

He had been showing her all week how to start a fire with a bow-drill. It had taken him weeks to learn how, in his childhood, in the Tunnels, camping with Devin and some of the men. She had not been successful yet, but "I feel lucky today," she said.

The sun had not yet started to rise; stars still twinkled in the sky. She hunched over the bow, and started turning it.

"I think today will be the day you do it," he affirmed.

"I will be so proud of myself when I finally get it. This is one of the hardest things I've ever tried to do."

"You love taking on a challenge, pushing yourself, testing yourself." He paused. "I admire your courage."

"I don't know if I've got the courage to go back looking like this. My face is my identity. After my face was slashed, it was difficult partly because I didn't know who I was. I was always seen as a 'pretty girl,' and when I first went back, I wasn't, and I had no reason to believe I ever would be again. I knew how to be a pretty princess. I could always get what I wanted, and everyone loved me, when I was a daddicespritteagurl."

"What is a daddicespritteagurl?"

"Daddy's pretty girl is pretty, devoid of ambition, rich and stupid."

"But you're not stupid, you're very smart."

"Smart enough to never let anyone know how smart I was. If you're a woman, no one will listen to you if you're pretty and smart. No one will listen to you if you're ugly and poor. No one will like you if you're strong and pretty. And it's never okay to be old."

He was quiet for a time, considering. ""Maybe it's time to re-tell our fairy tales. And find some new friends. Hecate surrounds herself with an interesting group; we might want to meet them sometime. Catherine, what does it mean to you to be a strong woman?" he asked.

"It means you're self-confident, self-assured. You're not overly concerned with anyone else's opinion of you."

"So…how do you feel about yourself?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I'm overweight, I have acne, I'm clumsy, not too bright…well…I also have a lot of compassion, patience, kindness and warmth. And I have my friends, my feelings for you haven't changed-"

"Your feelings for me have changed. You won't let me kiss you anymore."

She put down the bow-drill, and stared at him. She thought for a moment. "My feelings for you haven't changed. It's my feelings for myself that changed. And I just had an epiphany. When you don't feel good about yourself, you can't believe other people feel good about you. My god, Vincent, now I can see why you wouldn't kiss me, why you kept pushing me away…all my desire for you, now it's painful, it makes me realize how disgusting I am, revolting-"

"You're not!" he yelled at her. "Don't say that!" " _Hecate gave me the power to heal,"_ he thought. " _Let me help you heal, Catherine."_ He crouched down beside her and pulled out his knife from his belt. He made a small cut in the tip of his middle finger, and squeezed a little puddle of blood into the dirt. He made a muddle of it with a fingertip, and grasped Catherine's chin.

"This is the face paint of the war god, Vik-Tor-Ka-taz," he said, drawing a wavy line across a cheek. "She who wears it is irresistible to men and gods," he said as he drew a straight line down her other cheek.

She smiled. "I feel the magic of the paint," she whispered. "You are powerless to resist me. Kiss me, I command it."

He sighed, and leaned down while she lifted her face to him. It was a kiss that reached all the way to their souls and made their hearts pound.

As they pulled away from each other, they smiled; the first, the scariest hurdle cleared. "I have got to get some coffee," murmured Catherine, and she picked up the bow drill and bent again over the hearth board. Very quickly, smoke started rising; she dropped her ember in her kindling, and blew steadily on it; a bold flame leapt up.

"Vincent! Vincent! Look! Look!"

"I see! I see!"

"I did it! I did it!"

"You are amazing! Amazing!"

Many minutes later, they sat sipping coffee before a crackling campfire.

"Best coffee I ever had," she said.

"Yes," he agreed.

"But how can a woman wield power, if not as a princess?" asked Catherine. They hiked across the plain, their footsteps kicking up small dust clouds. Their pace was easy; they had a long way to go, and no timetable to meet. But they did have work to get accomplished before they left. An enormous amount of work.

"THAT is the question you have to answer for yourself."

After a moment she answered, "Yes."

"Catherine," Vincent began uncertainly. "I've been thinking. I've had so much time to think…there is something I feel I must say to you, so I will say it plainly," he stopped and took her gently by the shoulders. "Catherine, I am not human, but I am not an animal, either. I am both. I have human needs, but I have animal needs, as well. I have always been ashamed of my animal nature, my primal self. I am learning to not be ashamed. I am learning to accept and _be_ myself."

"Vincent, that's so wonderful!" exclaimed Catherine. He had scared her when he started, because she had no idea what point he was trying to make. She was relieved to say the least, and actually overjoyed at the prospect that he might quit his self-loathing.

"But will you be able to accept me? My behavior is going to change. My primal self has feelings of dominance, control. So many times I've said to you, 'follow your heart'." He shook his head. "Would you be able to accept me if instead I said, 'No, Catherine, it is unthinkable for you to move to Providence.' Or what if I said, 'Catherine, you are in danger. Come Below until the danger passes.' Because then if you refused to come Below, I would simply pick you up, and take you kicking and screaming. What then?"

She sighed. "I am going to admit something to you, and it's very hard for me to do. If I had listened to you, and come Below when you asked…" she faltered. "If I had come Below when you asked me to, many people would still be alive today. You would not have been hurt as much, physically and emotionally. I should have listened to you. So I may kick and scream, but after I calm down, I will remember all the people who ought to be alive. I will see the scars on your body, and in your eyes I will see the scars on your soul. So, I will be okay with you dragging me Below—in the long run."

He nodded. "You blame yourself for people dying. You feel guilt." She nodded. "My horrible truth, my terrible secret, Catherine, is that I enjoy killing people."

She looked into his eyes. "I know you do."

"Afterward, I do feel remorse, guilt. Not only did I kill, I enjoyed mauling people. My real fear is that the people I love will see me as a monster, and stop loving me."

She sighed. "Kanin got drunk, got behind the wheel of a car, and killed a young boy. We still love him. Devin pretended to be a doctor and performed a C-section on some unsuspecting woman. We still love him. Winslow was a ferocious bully, and he was your best friend. He died for our love. Your family will never stop loving you. They don't fear you because you can kill, they appreciate you because you keep them safe. They love you because you're gentle and loving and kind, and you're family. And as for me—Vincent, I killed myself and followed you into hell. I can't do any more than that. I love you. I will always love you. You're going to have to develop some faith, and trust."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

As they climbed up a hill, the soil became increasingly sandy. At the top, they stopped and looked out upon an ocean.

"That shouldn't be there," said Vincent. "It wasn't there when I came from the Elysian Fields." He paused. "Ah," he realized, "the ways change."

"Do we cross it?" asked Catherine.

Vincent held his North Star, the black opal hanging around his neck, in his hand. He opened his mind, and saw himself and Catherine in a vision, sailing on a small clipper with a crew of five wraiths. "I believe we do," he answered her. They continued on to the beach.

Hecate appeared as they came near the shore. Vincent genuflected before her, and pulled Catherine down, too. He bowed his head.

"We thank you Goddess, for we know you have been watching over us, protecting us and helping us. Of all the gods and goddesses, it is your protection for which we are most thankful."

"You are most welcome, Vincent, and Catherine. Your homage warms my heart. So, are you ready to go home?"

"Yes, very ready," they answered severally.

She nodded. "This will be the last leg of your journey. It will be terrifying and exhausting." She looked out over the ocean. "But when you arrive home, you will have found your answers." She continued to gaze out across the water for a moment, then looked back to them. "Go with my blessing upon you."

Suddenly, as in a dream, the setting changed, and they found themselves on the deck of a cutter, with a crew of five… wraiths. They were an awful sight. They wore ragged, hooded cloaks, with swords belted around their waists. Their faces were frozen in expressions of open mouthed terror. Their arms were nothing more than dried out, twisted bones, the bones of their hands gnarled with Vikings' Disease, their fingers long, brittle, splintered and jagged. They had no legs; they floated, the shreds of their cloaks sweeping the deck underneath their torsos.

One of them drifted toward the couple. "Welcome aboard. I am Nereus, captain of this ship and crew." His voice was dry and wispy. "We will do all we can to keep you safe, but our journey is long, and filled with danger. This is the Sea of Tethys, which we will sail all the way to the river Acheron. These," he gestured to port and starboard, "are the ten islands of the sea-kingdom of Atlantis. The sea god, Poseidon, had many lovers, male and female. One was a mortal woman named Cleito. They had five sets of twin boys. Each one is a king of an island of Atlantis. Poseidon also loved Gaia, our mother earth. From that union sprang Kharybdis, the giantess. Kharybdis aided Poseidon in a feud with Zeus, winning great expanses of land and engulfing them underwater. So angry with her was he, that Zeus chained her to the bottom of this sea. She drinks vast amounts of water several times a day, trying to quench her unslakable thirst, creating great whirlpools. Poseidon also loved Scylla, who was a beautiful water naiad. But another one of Poseidon's lovers, Amphitrite, was jealous of her, and poisoned the waters where Scylla bathed, changing her into a terrible monster, with tentacles for legs, and ringed around with dogs' heads growing from her waist." He paused a moment. "You may have heard of the Sirens who tormented Odysseus. They used to be nymphs, the girlhood playmates of Persephone, our beloved queen. They were gathering flowers in a field one day, when the earth opened, and mighty Hades abducted her. When her mother, Demeter came looking for her, the distraught nymphs could only sob and wail, but tell her nothing. She became angry with them, and changed them into the murdering Sirens they are now, singing songs of irresistible beauty, luring sailors to their deaths."

They sailed all morning, and most of the afternoon without incident, in calm seas with a strong wind. As the sun was setting, the sky darkened. "I was afraid of this," said Captain Nereus. "The wind is picking up strength, and the thunderheads are rolling in. We're in for a storm."

The rain started falling, and was soon pelting them; the wind gathered strength and howled around them. Catherine and Vincent were both pressed into service, securing every item by tying it down or locking it away. As Catherine bent down to pick up a coil of rope, she looked over the rail into the sea; she saw dozens, then tens of dozens of dead men, their corpses bobbing in the rolling ocean. She gasped. "That's the handiwork of the Sirens, Kharybdis, and Scylla," advised the mournful wraith closest to her.

Captain Nereus found his voice, and shouted out orders over the roaring wind, "We'll heave to! Prepare to come about!" The crew echoed the order in lifeless moans. "Raise the headsail!" The rain was now torrential, and cold. The wraith manning the headsail was struggling; his finger-bones were cracking and breaking.

"Catherine," yelled Captain Nereus, "man the headsail, get her raised!" Catherine made her way over, slipping and falling a few times on the deck; it was covered by a few inches of water, and slick. The waves were rising and the clipper was starting to be tossed about. It was dark now, and hard to see.

"Vincent!" Nereus yelled, "Lower the jib!" Vincent half slid, half stutter-stepped to the jib. The wind blasted him, knotting his hair and stinging his eyes.

Catherine looked up in time to see a wave tower a story above the boat, and then crash down, sending all hands flying through the air, and smashing the clipper to splinters.

Catherine said a prayer of thanks to any and all gods responsible for allowing her to remain conscious, and determine which way was up. She treaded water, and looked around for Vincent. A large piece of the hull came floating by, and she grabbed it, digging her nails into its slippery surface. Just then, Vincent surfaced beside her, and sank his claws into the hull. They quickly grasped a shoulder, a forearm, as reassurance of their survival, then clutched the black opals of Hecate to determine which direction to head in. They oriented themselves, and started kicking.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Deimahkos kept his chamber dark and closed; he believed darkness bolstered his terrible powers. Incense filled the still air, and Enerate worried that she would swoon from being overheated. Deimahkos crushed the dried herbs in his hand, and let the fragments sprinkle down into the brazier. The flame leapt up; the vision took shape. It was a man, with the face of a lion. He was at the beach, in the surf, fishing; his woman was gathering fruit. He was naked, and even in a vision his powerful muscles were impressive; he was magnificent. They both saw it.

"I must tell Ampheres," said Enerate, her voice raw and cracking. She rose, and ran from the chamber.

They had taken off their wet clothing when they'd made landfall in the wee hours of the morning. They'd found a small cavern in a rock face, just big enough for them to stretch out and build a fire. They laid their sodden clothing over rocks to dry, and lay down in each other's arms, exhausted. They'd paddled three miles through rough seas to reach shore. They slept for twenty-four hours.

When Vincent awoke, he opened his eyes to a spectacular sunrise, and the love of his life in his arms. _She makes a heaven of hell,_ he mused. He caressed her silky skin, and planted tiny kisses on her shoulders and arms.

She slowly raised her eyelids, and smiled softly. She pulled him to her, and gave him a soft, fuzzy, first-kiss-of-the-morning kiss. "Marry me," she whispered. "I will," he answered. They nuzzled and cuddled until the growling of their stomachs was too loud to ignore.

They rose and dressed. They combed the beach for driftwood for the fire, and food. The tide had brought in a lot of the wreckage of their clipper. Vincent cried out for joy when he found a fishing net. They also found knives, rope, cups, canteens, and—here Catherine cried out—the sails. Yards and yards of beautiful, beautiful canvas, they could use for a tent, or hammocks.

They carried and dragged their finds back to their cavern. Vincent stripped down to go fishing with the net while Catherine re-kindled the fire and continued searching for any dates or coconuts she could find on the beach.

She had just picked up some mangos, and was inspecting them. As she straightened, she caught sight of Vincent in the water, casting the net. There was no fur on his shoulders and upper arms, and his powerful muscles were cleanly cut. The fur on his chest was thin enough to allow her to see layer atop layer of rippling musculature, from his pectoral muscles down to his abdominal six-pack. His narrow waist gave him a classic 'V' build, and he stood in water just lower than his waist. Catherine stared. Vincent looked up, and met her gaze. He pulled in the net with several fish flapping in it, and came out of the water.

They sat cross-legged on the ground, eating fruit while the fish, gutted, scaled and impaled on sticks sunk into the ground, roasted beside the fire. Vincent had put on his pants despite Catherine's, "Must you?"

Vincent pulled up one of the staked fish, and tested the flesh for doneness. It flaked under his fingers. He passed it to Catherine, and took another for himself. He glanced surreptitiously at her, from under his hair, and smiled a little. She was enjoying her meal, and felt very content, he could feel it through their bond, and it made him happy. He cleared his throat.

"Catherine, are you sure you're well?" She looked up in surprise. "During the storm we were thrown around terribly. Are you stiff or sore?"

"No, I feel fine." She smiled at him. "How about you?"

"I'm well. But I worry about you. You've lost weight."

"Isn't it great?" she grinned. "Must've been all the walking. And my skin cleared up, thank God—or gods—whatever."

"If you're well, then I'm happy." He sighed, content.

"It's going to be a nice day," she said. "It's sunny, not a cloud in the sky, nice breeze…"

He looked at her for a moment. "I love you."

She looked at him, tears welling up in her eyes; she put a hand over her heart. "I love you, Vincent," she said softly. He leaned toward her, and they kissed.

He pulled away, but she wanted more. "Can I try a bite of your fish?" she asked. He pulled a chunk off the bones, and handed it to her. But instead taking it in her hand, she took hold of his wrist, and lowered her mouth to his fingers. She ran her tongue up his middle finger, and took the fish in her mouth. She pocketed it between her gum and cheek, and ran her tongue up and down between his fingers and the skin in between. His breathing became ragged; she held his hand in her two hands, palm up and open. She swallowed the fish, then began to kiss and lick his palm. He hissed and moaned her name, and reached for her.

But fate is cruel, for just then, the sound of hoof beats coming close roused them. Ten men on horseback were riding toward them. They rose, and went forward to meet them.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

The men dismounted and approached them. When they came close, they knelt down.

"Dread god, we praise you for coming to us. Tell us your name that we may worship you."

"Vincent, but-"

"Dread God Vincent, mighty and powerful, thank you for coming to us. We will build your temple here on this beach, and sacrifice the animals of your choosing." Vincent would have interrupted and explained he was mortal, not divine, but Catherine's hand squeezing his forearm stopped him. The man continued, "You are our hope and our promise, and our gratitude is eternal."

"Lord Vincent is well pleased with your devotion," said Catherine. "I am Catherine, a mere mortal, but Lord Vincent in his generous nature, loves me despite my humble station."

"He is a generous god, a wondrous, benevolent god," the man answered, still kneeling.

Vincent did interrupt. "Please, rise. Give me your hand, and tell me your name."

The men gasped at the humility of their god. The man who'd been speaking rose first, and the others followed suit. He held out his hand, and Vincent took it in his.

The man continued, "I am Ampheres, king of this island, Gadeiros, of the nation of Atlantis. These are my brothers, the kings of the other islands of Atlantis. My wife, Enerate, and Deimahkos, the wizard of our court, saw your coming in a vision. Please help us, Lord Vincent, we beg you. Zeus has chained our half sister, Kharybdis, to the bottom of the sea, by that great rock you see on the water."

They looked out over the sea. Just then, a huge whirlpool formed. The sea birds that had been swimming there were sucked down to their deaths.

"We have another half brother, Khrysaor, who is also a giant. He has tried to free Kharybdis many times, but he can't do it without help. Zeus robbed Kharybdis of her reason, and she attacks whoever gets close to her. My brothers and I have almost died trying to free her. My wife dreamed of you, months ago, and since then has seen you in visions. If you will help Khrysaor, you can free our sister. We beg you, great Lord, please help us." He was almost in tears.

"Of course I'll help you," said Vincent. "But I don't have the power to breathe under water-"

The twins looked confused, and Catherine cut in, "You assumed from your visions and dreams that Lord Vincent was a god, and in truth, he has the strength of a god. But his mother was Hecate, and he was born of her alone, and has no father. So although he is immortal, his powers are limited to his great strength." Vincent understood now why Catherine had forestalled his attempt to explain that he was mortal. She intuitively knew that these men desperately wanted a superhero, a god. Had he made them understand that he was not, they might have reacted violently.

The twins voiced a collective, "Ahhhh," and "…like Hercules…," and nodded understanding. "Not to worry," said Ampheres, "for I command the Sirens. They can sing a breathing song that will give you air for as long as you need." A giant approached, riding on the back of an enormous horse, black as jet, snorting and pawing the ground as the giant dismounted. The giant was easily eight feet tall, looked to weigh about six hundred pounds, and was nothing but lean, bulging muscle. "Here is Khrysaor," said Ampheres as the giant dismounted.

Vincent faced Catherine. She shook her head slightly. "Come back to me," she whispered. They kissed briefly, but the depth of their feeling traveled along their bond through their tight embrace.

Vincent walked toward Khrysaor; they clasped forearms. "I am Vincent," he said.

"I am Khrysaor," the other answered, "and today we are brothers. We will fight together, and our sister shall be finally freed."

Ampheres retrieved a small drum from where it hung on his saddle. As he beat out a steady rhythm, women gathered in the water, their heads breaking the surface. As they came closer to shore, their shapely shoulders and breasts became visible; their long hair trailed across their shoulders, down their torsos and backs; they were very beautiful. There were two dozen of them.

As Vincent and Khrysaor stripped, Catherine looked from him to the Sirens, and became anxious. Vincent felt it, and gave her a look that said, 'you should know better'. Ampheres noticed her consternation, and put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry; they will hold no attraction for him," he said. Catherine nodded. He raised his voice to call out to the Sirens. "Nymphs, listen to me. I am Amperes, son of Poseidon, and in his name, I command you. Listen to me! Lord Vincent and my brother, Khrysaor, are going to free my sister, Kharybdis, from her watery imprisonment. You will help them as much as you can, by singing your breathing song, and by helping them to break the chains that hold her. You will not attempt to entice either Vincent or Khrysaor. In the name of Poseidon, I command this!"

The Sirens began to sing, a suspended tone. Vincent waded into the water; Khrysaor ran back to his horse, mounted in a leap, and charged into the water.

The light was filtered and murky on the ocean floor. Vincent and Khrysaor stood together, looking out from behind a coral reef at Kharybdis, about a hundred feet away. She was sitting, curled up with her knees drawn up to her chest, leaning against the rock wall she was chained to, sleeping. Dark emotions played across her face in her sleep, and she started frequently. Her wrists were raw under the manacles. She looked thin and pale.

"She is chained to the rock. The chain is not _attached_ to the rock; the chain is _sunk into_ the rock," said Khrysaor. "In the bag on my saddle, I have coupling hooks, and chain. I will draw her attention to me, and grapple with her. I will keep her at the end of her length of chain, putting stress on all the links. You attach a coupler to her chain as close to her as you can get. Attach the other end of my chain to my horse's collar. We will all pull on the chain, and at least one of the links will break under our combined stress. Try not to let her see you. Are you ready?"

Vincent nodded. "I am."

Khrysaor set out, striding toward Kharybdis. While he was still a good distance away, she woke. Seeing him, she bared her pointed teeth and snarled. As he continued to draw near, she crouched, then sprang. She ran to meet him, and they wrestled, rolling on the ocean bottom.

Vincent made his way stealthily, leading the horse by the bit. He placed the hooks and chain as Khrysaor had instructed. Then he mounted the horse, and urged it on.

As tension built on the chain, Khrysaor and Kharybdis were pulled along, away from the rock wall. The chain was holding fast; they weren't putting enough stress on it.

Vincent saw a commotion in the water above his head. A black, four legged figure galloped toward him—Bucephalus! Vincent pulled more hardware out of the bag, and attached Bucephalus to Kharybdis' chain as well.

The chain creaked under the stress being put on it. Kharybdis became aware of Vincent and the horses, and panicked. She began to suck down water to create a whirlpool.

The Sirens had been observing from behind the coral reef. As Kharybdis began inhaling water, they retreated. Vincent, afraid they might stop singing the breathing song, started leading the horses up to the surface. Kharybdis began to fight to stay on the ocean floor. She broke off her grappling with Khrysaor, and came after Vincent.

She hit him with the force of a torpedo, knocking him away from the horses. She wrapped her hands around his throat and started to choke him. Khrysaor was right behind her, trying to break her grip on Vincent's neck.

They had been moving up, and were now within fifteen feet of the surface. Vincent was starting to see black spots before his eyes, when suddenly, a huge octopus arm reached down from the surface. Its tentacles wrapped around Kharybdis' chain, and yanked her, Vincent, horses and giants, all to the surface.

The chain snapped, freeing Kharybdis. The rock face that she had been chained to was the base of the island the octopus' arm was lowering them to. As they touched land, the enchantment was broken, and the chains fell away. Kharybdis lay on the ground, unconscious. The men struggled to catch their breath. As they did, their eyes followed the tip of the octopus arm up its length: it was attached to a monster. It had the head of a beautiful woman, but to its trunk was attached the heads of five dogs, and below that, eight octopus arms, each one twenty feet long. And it sat on the very top of the rock Kharybdis had been chained to.

Vincent didn't have time to react to the sight: he was being pulled by an irresistible force back into the water. Back on Ampheres' island, a cry of rapture had gone up when the brothers had seen Kharybdis break the surface of the water. Now, they grew silent as they saw him struggling against an invisible pull, and Khrysaor fighting to keep him on land, and losing. Their silence became confusion, then panic. "What is it?" cried Catherine. "What's happening?"

"The Sirens are singing a new song, a prayer to Poseidon to change Vincent into a merman," answered Ampheres, sickened.

Catherine's eyes grew huge. "Hecate!" she yelled, and continued yelling as she ran toward the water, and dove in. The brothers followed.

The Sirens had succeeded in pulling Vincent back into the water, Khrysaor still hanging on and fighting. As Catherine rolled her head to draw a breath, she saw the Wraiths flying overhead! Their swords were drawn; they swooped and skewered Sirens. Catherine drew a huge breath, and dove down to share it with Vincent, who'd finally been pulled under.

Just as she reached him, the octopus arm reached past her to wrap around the head of a Siren, and crush it; the brothers closed in on the last Siren, slashing her throat. Catherine wrapped her arms around Vincent's neck, and pressed her mouth to his to deliver the air. They kicked to the surface to see the Sirens streaming in from the water, no longer fish-tailed, but young women again, running across the beach. Persephone herself stepped out of a fissure of the rock, to lead them to the Elysian Fields, and the reunited playmates embraced, and wept.

Nereus, flying overhead, circled back, carrying a flaming torch. He hovered above the monster. "Scylla! My daughter! Be freed from your curse!" he yelled, and threw down his torch. She screeched, immediately engulfed in a flame that washed over her, and went out as suddenly as it started. As the smoke cleared, a beautiful young woman appeared, sitting in the middle of a pile of ash. She stood, and made her way down from the pinnacle.

Kharybdis was sitting up, and as Vincent and Catherine emerged from the water, she stood. She ran to embrace Scylla. Scylla also was larger than life, but not quite as big as Kharybdis. They had spent such a long time together, each one the only company the other had. The twins all came ashore, and Vincent and Catherine were very welcome guests at a joyous family reunion.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

She lay beside Vincent, one arm across his chest, the other tucked at her side. The night was cool, the stars crisp. She was so comfortable and content snuggled against him. She rose up on one elbow to look at his sweet face. They'd spent that day the same way they'd spent every day of the last two weeks, following their North Stars, hiking back to the Acheron, talking.

That day they'd begun talking about going home. They'd be back on the bank of the Acheron in one more day. What would be different? What would be the same? Would they remember their time in the Underworld? How would they be returned?

She tucked herself back under his arm, resting her head on his chest. She resumed her star-gazing; she saw a shooting star. She wished she could be like this with Vincent forever, in love, at peace, happy.

And once again, she was kneeling over Vincent's lifeless body in the cavern below the Catacombs. She froze: he wasn't breathing. She checked for a pulse: none. Heartbeat? None.

"No, no…" she cried.

His lips were blue, his hands cold. She reached into her coat pocket, and pulled out one of Paracelsus' double edged daggers. She knew as she pressed its point into the space between her ribs, there was only emptiness without Vincent, unbearable, cold emptiness. Unbearable. She believed in a truth beyond knowledge that she would be by his side in death.

He reached up and closed his hands around hers. He opened his eyes, and blinked. He took the dagger away from her, and murmuring, "No," he tossed it aside.

"Vincent?" she gasped.

He reached up and with one hand cupped the back of her head, and wrapped the other arm around her waist. He pulled her down on top of him, and kissed her. He rolled, putting her on her back, himself on his side, cradling her head in the crook of his arm.

When it ended, they were both a little breathless. "Did it really happen?" she whispered.

He looked deep into her sparkling eyes, nodded and smiled. He reached down, and lifted the black opal still hanging on its chain around her neck. He started to rise, and held his hands out to her to help her up also.

Once on their feet and balanced, he ran the palms of his hands up and down her upper arms. After a moment, she asked, "Now what?" He smiled, using most of his teeth, a thing he almost never did. She blinked, and cocked her head to one side. He pushed her trench coat off her shoulders—

"Catherine! Catherine, are you all right?" Father came bursting into the cavern, several men with torches right behind. He froze at the sight of Vincent on his feet.

"Vincent," he whispered, and came at him, embracing him. The others came forward also, and Catherine was enveloped. They were pushed and pulled to the hospital chamber. Father sat Vincent down on a bed; Catherine stood beside.

"Vincent, this is a miracle," he said. "How did this happen?" 

Vincent shrugged; Catherine spoke. "I don't know; he was roaring and snarling, and when I went into the cavern, he came at me. But then he recognized me and stopped, and then he passed out. He was out for awhile, and when he woke up…he was fine."

Father stared at her, disbelief written across his face. "He woke up and he was fine, you say? I've never heard of such a thing."

They both shrugged. Father checked his vital signs, then stepped back. "Everything perfectly normal," he said.

"Father, I'm sure everyone has been worried," said Vincent. "Why don't we have tea in the dining hall? I can thank everyone for their thoughts and prayers, and they will see that I'm alright now."

"You feel up to it?" asked Father.

"I feel fine, Father."

"Very well, then, Vincent, I think that's a fine idea."

They spent the next hour sharing tea with his large family. Vincent looked so well and his demeanor was so relaxed, they were all reassured of his return to health. It was a miracle.

At last, the hour was getting late, and the community's attention turned to preparing for the morning. Men, women and children all bestowed a final round of hugs, kisses and handshakes upon him, and retired to their chambers.

Vincent looked into Catherine's eyes, and got lost. "Father," he began, but got no further.

"No, Vincent, absolutely not. I know what you're going to say, you're thinking of going Above. Not tonight, Vincent-"

"Especially tonight, Father," he interrupted.

"Father," said Mary, sitting nearby, "they want to spend some time together."

"No! Vincent, as your physician, I forbid it! It is far too soon after too serious an illness."

"Father, you sound suspicious of my recovery," Vincent challenged.

"It seems to be a miracle, Vincent, but let me tell you, miracles like this just don't happen. They just don't. You were dying, Vincent, all your bodily systems were in failing in a cascade, your body was shutting down. You only had a few hours to live, maybe less. And now look at you. You're in the pink, drinking tea, for God's sake!"

Vincent huffed. "Would you prefer it if I were dead?"

"I would prefer to know what happened!"

"Alright, Father, the truth is, I did die, and I went to hell, but they didn't like me there, so they sent me back."

Catherine laughed and Mary could not hold back a loud guffaw. Soon Father couldn't help laughing, as well.

"Ah, Vincent…ride the elevator up. Catherine, if there's any problem at all, send a message on the pipes in your basement, and I'll come with my bag." Father stood and pulled Vincent's forehead to his own, then kissed it. "I love you, son." He stepped away and added, "I'm VERY glad you're better!"

She crossed her dark apartment and swung open the French doors; she heard a soft thump as he landed on her balcony. She stepped out, into his outstretched arms. They kissed, deeply, tenderly. Then she took his hand and led him into her apartment.

He pushed her trench coat off her shoulders, and pulled if off her arms. He shook it out, and laid it over the couch. He took off his cape, and it followed the path of her trench coat. He pulled her to him, and kissed her with soft, slow, sultry kisses, moving them steadily closer to her bedroom. He started to peel off his layers of shirts. Catherine unbuttoned her cuffs, then the rest of her blouse. He unfastened his waistband to pull off the last of his shirts. His chest exposed, he looked down to see her, shirt hanging open, staring at him. She raised her hands, but was afraid to touch his chest. He took her hands gently, and pressed them to his chest. He closed his eyes and savored the sensation of her warm fingers caressing his breasts, abdomen, obliques. He circled her waist with his hands, and in turn, she ran her hands up his arms and over his shoulders. He pulled her closer and ran his fingers up her back, and unhooked her bra.

He slid the straps off her shoulders as she shrugged off her blouse; her bra trailed after. Vincent put his hands on her obliques, and stared. She ran her hands up his arms, and across to caress his breasts. He sat down on her bed, toed off one boot and pulled it off, then the other. He reached around, and unzipped her skirt. It pooled around her ankles. He stood and pushed his pants down to his ankles. Catherine stood amazed; he was more fantastic than Michelangelo's David. He pushed down on the sides of her panties, and let them fall. He pulled her down on the bed behind him.

They were so entranced by each other, they took their time exploring every inch of skin and fur, front and back, rolling, touching, kissing, tasting, nipping. He was lying on his back, and she kissed her way up the inside of his thigh. She was mouthing the base of his sex when he started growling, low and deep in his chest. He sat up, his back against the headboard, and gently pulled her up by her shoulders, and sat her in his lap, his erection against her abdomen, her thighs straddling his, her knees bent. He started kissing her lips, worked his way down her throat, and stopped at her breasts. She rose on her knees, and he put his hands under her bottom. He closed his eyes, took her breast in his mouth and caressed her nipple and areola with the flat of his warm tongue. She raised her arms above her head, bent her elbows, and arched her back. He slid one hand around and used the flat of his thumb to stroke her nub. She started to moan and pant, and say his name over and over.

He opened his eyes and decided he'd never close them again when making love to Catherine. His erection grew and stiffened at the sight of her, arched back, sweating, chest heaving. He sucked on her nipple, hard, stroked her bud faster and she moaned louder. Her sweet juice flowed so freely, he started to lower her down on his member. He inserted just the tip, and had to stop. She was so tight, she was going to have to relax before he could go any deeper; but if he went deeper, he would not be able to hold back his orgasm, because she felt that good, so tight, and so very slick and warm. But she was happy with just the tip right now. She was tossing her head, crying his name, dripping with sweat and groaning. He very, very carefully bit down on her nipple with his incisors, just enough to pinch, and he pulled, just a bit. At the same time, he slid just-a-bit more of his member in her, and pumped, short, quick strokes.

In a second, she was screaming his name, digging her nails into his shoulders. And she opened up, inside. She relaxed completely, and his member slid in like a tight handshake. The contractions of her orgasm milked him; in a few seconds, he was grunting, then groaning out his orgasm. They clung to each other for a minute, panting, soaked with sweat.

"Vincent—I saw fireworks," she whispered.

He smiled and started planting tiny kisses on her neck.

She moaned. "I wanted this to be so perfect for you, and I feel like all I did was take."

"No, no," he whispered. "It was perfect…beautiful, wonderful, fantastic, I never could have dreamed how…perfect…this was."

"Oh," she started to whine, "the bed's not made, we're all sweaty-"

"I like us sweaty. I like you sweaty. I like the way it makes you smell…the way it makes you taste. Catherine—I'm going to make you sweat some more."

"Oh, _yes_ -!"

He laid her down on her back, kissed and caressed, licked and sucked all the sensitive areas on her front, until her nipples peaked and her bud and petals throbbed, and she was pleading with him to finish her off.

He chuckled, and pulled a wedge-shaped pillow from the pile at the side of the bed. He rolled her over, lifted her hips, and stuffed the narrow end of the pillow under her abdomen, leaving the wide end under her pelvis, raising her bottom several inches above the mattress.

He put the tip of his member against her bud, and raked his claws gently down her back, across her bottom, and down every side of her thighs until she was bucking; as she bucked, she ground into him. He moved the pillow so he could reach her breasts as well, rolling, pinching, tugging her hard nipples. She nearly had an orgasm several times, but just as she started, he would pull back. She was afraid he was going to drive her mad. Two years without sex, and now he was touching her in ways she had never imagined. Her ability for rational thought was leaving her.

"Remember, Catherine, I am Vincent, the god, and you are powerless against me."

"You're loving this," she panted.

"You're loving this," he answered. "Say it, say, 'I'm loving this'."

"I am…I am loving this…I love your claws teasing me," she panted, "…I love the feeling of your member, I love what you're doing to my nipples…Vincent, I am so close, please, please-"

He remained silent. "Vincent!"

"Pray to me again, mortal."

"Oh, my god, Vincent, it hurts, I'm throbbing, please, Vincent, please, please, please-!"

"Your prayer has found favor with us," he said, "and so I shall grant it." He parted her petals with the flats of his fingers. Her bud was swollen and hard, her petals slick with her own lubrication; he caressed her nub gently, rubbing the tip as well. As she began to hyperventilate, he slid his member deeper into her heat, but again kept most of the pressure on the upper wall, close to the front.

If their bond had not told him she was enraptured, he would have been scared. She started shrieking, and pumping back on his sex. He could barely hang on to her. She tried to pull away, but he could feel she was only half finished, so he hung on—which made her orgasm more intense. He held out for as long as he could, but she was pumping his entire length, a few times pulling him out completely and re-penetrating again—and again. He couldn't take much, and his orgasm was hard, long and hot.

She lay limp over the wedge; he fell onto his back. After a few minutes, he reached out to her.

"No, no, please, please don't touch me…every nerve ending in my body is jangling…I'm freakin' out…I gotta pee…" Her voice was raspy from the screaming. She pushed off the wedge, slid off the bed, took three shaky steps on very wobbly legs, then fell down. She crawled to the bathroom.

He got hard again watching her. He straightened out the covers, fluffed the pillows, and waited. She eventually opened the door, and stood looking at him for a moment. She was now capable of walking. She crawled into bed, and snuggled against him.

"So…" she murmured, "does this mean we're going steady?"

He laughed. "Catherine…you are _mine_." He leaned down and kissed her, hot, slow and sultry. "And I am yours. I love you—no, I _adore_ you."

They rested in each other's arms for a few minutes, then Catherine spoke.

"Vincent—I want to know the truth about what's been going on in those tunnels." He looked at her, and blinked. "Yes, the things we've done…the amazing things we've done…" she was having trouble speaking due to the fact that thinking about their activities made her insides become warm, squishy, and runny. "This could not have been your first time. Couldn't."

He began his answer by stroking her lips with his middle finger, then spreading them open, brushing her lips lightly with his own, then pumping his tongue into her mouth, still touching her lips with his fingers.

"These have been my fantasies," he whispered. "Tell me about your fantasies."

"Mine are pretty boring compared to yours."

"Tell me anyway."

She pulled away from him and reached under the bed; he couldn't resist fondling her buttock. She rose up, and sat up with two bottles in her hands.

"This is a water based massage lotion…I thought it would wash out of your fur easily. This one is oil based, for me." She set it on the nightstand. "Do you want to lie on your stomach, and I'll massage your back?" He rolled over, and she straddled his bottom. She warmed some lotion in her hands, and started with his shoulders. She could feel the strength in his solidly packed muscles. She kneaded them until they softened, and relaxed. She worked her way down his back, loosening him up, taking her time. As she was finishing the small of his back, an idea formed in her mind. She squirted a fair amount of massage lotion into her palm, and warmed it. She dipped the fingertips of her left hand in it, and slipped her hand around to fondle his nipple. He moaned a little. With a large puddle of lotion in her right hand, she reached around and took his member in her hand. "Mmmmm, Catherine," he murmured. She leaned her face down to his back, and gently bit into muscle bulging close to his spine.

He gasped, bucked, and rose up on his knees a bit. She bit down harder, and pinched his nipple to quiet him. He relaxed a bit, but started panting. She took advantage of his elevated pelvis to reach under, and caress his sac and the tender skin behind it. He started to twitch, and when his excitement peaked, she moved her hand to the base of his pole. She circled him firmly with her thumb and index finger, and stroked an inch of him. She worked her way up slowly, adding fingers and tightening her grip, until she reached the head.

She rolled him over quickly, not giving him time to clear his foggy brain. She resumed her grip on him, and lowered her mouth to his head. She moaned with him, and the vibration made him yell out. She used her other hand to stroke the skin under his sac, close to his anus. She circled her lips with the tip, licking it, pushing just the tip in and out of her lips. Now _he_ was yelling _her_ name. She had a naughty thought: why not give him a taste of his own medicine, and put a cock ring on him? She circled the base of his member with her index finger and thumb, and squeezed hard.

Keeping hold of his base, she rose up, and put his shaft in between her breasts and stroked herself; she used the head to tease her nipple to a long, hard peak; he growled and snarled; she rubbed him all over her neck and face, then finally started pumping the head in and out of her mouth, all the time squeezing his base.

"Catherine…" he panted, "Catherine, please…please…"

"Un-uh" she grunted, sucking hard on his head.

"CATHERINE!" he yelled. He groaned loudly, and thrashed his arms around. "CATHERINE!" he yelled again. She kept sucking, and started moaning. He started to raise his hands toward her. She sighed and sprung her hand open. His climax took him by surprise; he released into her mouth in long, hot squirts, bucking and yelling as he climaxed. She stroked him as he softened, then released him. He was spread-eagled on the bed, gasping and panting. She lay on her side, head on her palm, watching him.

Finally, he got his breathing under control. "Catherine," he admonished, "that was a very naughty thing to do."

She chuckled. "You loved it."

"I did love it. But still, it was very naughty," he continued. "A spanking might be in order."

Her eyes sparkled. "Over your knee, or bent over a desk?"

He smiled. "Bent over my knee. I'll order you to lift your skirt and lower your panties, and bend over my knee. Then, while I'm describing your transgressions, I'll slip my hand between your legs, and caress your bud until you're dripping and moaning. And then the spanking shall begin."

"With your hand or a belt?"

He laughed. "Which would sting more?"

"Maybe a ruler."

"Not sturdy enough. Maybe I'll find a whip-"

"OH, yessss," she cried, and threw her arms around his neck. They both laughed until Catherine got hiccups and Vincent coughed. "It's _fun_ to be perverted with you!" she cried, and they began laughing again. And then they were kissing and holding each other close, then they were caressing, and then Vincent used Catherine's massage oil on her shoulders, arms, abdomen, thighs and calves. She complained about his neglect of her breasts. He answered, "I want to make this last; take my time." He was so soft and gentle she felt like she was floating.

Then, as he began to massage her feet, she started to become aroused. He saw it; he smelled her musky scent rise, and it made him hard. He used one hand to lift her bottom, and with the other shoved a pillow under. He resumed his foot massage, and watched her beautiful face. She smiled, sultry, and sexy. She gasped when he rubbed her arch, and moaned while he continued. He put her foot down, bent her knees and spread her thighs apart. He moved close to her pelvis, and used the flats of his fingers to spread her petals. He bent down, and placed a sultry kiss on her nub. He pulled back, rose on his knees and used the back of one finger to stroke her bud. He took his shaft in his other hand, and stroked himself until he was huge, and rock hard. "Hold yourself open," he murmured. He rubbed her nub with the head of his shaft until she bucked, then he entered her slowly, a bit at a time, with short, quick strokes. As she relaxed, he moved in deeper, sliding his hands behind her knees, spreading them apart, and bending them toward her chest. Finally he had her wide open, his torso holding her thighs wide apart and knees close to her chest, his hands on either side of her petals, the flats of his thumbs stroking her nub, and his girth completely filling her. She moaned as her orgasm began, and her juices flowed. He stroked her with his entire length, slowly. She panted and moaned because she didn't have the strength left to scream, but he felt the powerful contractions of her orgasm. That plus the visual stimulation, watching his shaft stroking her heat, sent him over the edge.

He withdrew slowly, lay down close to her, and wrapped his arms around her. "You are officially down off your pedestal," he murmured. She smiled.


End file.
